It’s been nearly two weeks since my wife passed, and the house is finally quiet. It’s just me and the cats now. And, frankly, we’re all enjoying a little peace and a more relaxed pace.

From the day she entered hospice care on May 25 to the day following her passing, the house was abuzz with friends and family, nurse visits and equipment delivery, and the general activity related to caring for someone terminally ill and fading rapidly. Then there was paperwork to fill out, equipment to pick up, drugs to dispose of, and more visits.

I was grateful for it all; the support, the hugs, the stories, the wonderful care the hospice team provided. And our very social cat Buster (below, left) was in kitty heaven with all the attention he got. But I also looked forward to things settling down again. Last Saturday my daughter Rachel, who graciously stayed an extra week, returned home to Denver, and I’m easing into living alone for the first time ever.

Alone? What are we, chopped liver? Speaking of, how about some.

So how am I doing?

Fine. Really.

True, it still feels like Joyce is just away for a while, like when she’d go to our campground up north for the weekend while I worked a race. And there are still automatic triggers in my mind. Like when I walk by the flower station at Whole Foods and reflexively wonder if I should get some for her. And Rachel left this sign on the fridge when she left, and my reaction was, “Oh, I can’t wait to show this to Joyce.”

But those are okay. Because they bring back memories of how much she loved our girls, and loved small things like getting flowers. To me, good memories are a joy. And she felt the same way.

I recently came across an email she sent to a friend years ago after the death of her friend’s mother. In it she said it helped to talk about a loved one who had just passed, citing when my father died. She missed him, and when she talked about what a great guy he was, she felt better. And talking about Joyce makes me feel good, too.

So bring on the stories. The more, the better. Someone so loving, and so deserving of love, should be remembered often, and fondly.

As someone wrote in a sympathy card to me, “In time, I hope that memories of Joyce will be a blessing.” They sure will. Because they’re a blessing right now.

Our family one Christmas, not that long ago. At least it seems that way.