At My Husband’s Funeral, I Opened His Casket to Place a Flower — and Found a Crumpled Note Tucked Under His Hands

His shoes were still by the door. His mug on the counter.

His glasses on the nightstand.

I sat on the edge of our bed and stared at the closet shelf.

Eleven journals in a neat row. Greg’s handwriting on the spines.

“Helps me think,” he’d say.

I’d never read them. It felt like opening his head.

But Susan’s words were echoing: “Two.

A boy and a girl.”

I pulled down the first journal and opened it.

The first entry was a week after our wedding. He wrote about our terrible honeymoon motel. The broken air conditioner.

My laugh.

I flipped through the pages.

Continue reading…