When I “sketched out” tentative blog topics for this month, I had no idea what a life-changing event the Universe was about to throw at me. I guess we never do.

So instead of writing about filing taxes today, I’m writing again about death. Death and taxes: the only two things of which we can be certain, according to Benjamin Franklin.

Rick’s passing has shaken me to the core. Not unexpected, I suppose, as we had become almost inseparable from the first day we met, five years ago. And even his death was not completely unexpected, given his declining health, but that doesn’t make it any easier to wrap my mind around the deep and penetrating sense of loss.

Today—12 days after his death—I’m still unable to go a day without breaking down. I see his key fob and cry. I look at the glass heart he gave me, and the card beside it that says since I have his heart, I must promise to take good care of it, and I lose it completely. His cat Theo nudges me to be petted, and I bawl like a baby.

I know that time takes time—and it’s only been 12 days. In another 12 days we will lay him to rest beside his beloved wife of 37 years, where they will be reunited for eternity. And I am 100% okay with that.

But where does that leave me? Rick suggested the three of us share a plot, but I vetoed that idea. My directive instructs my ashes to be sprinkled—but by whom?

I guess only time will tell.