Page 140 of Carry On

“I miss you,” I said aloud. I poured his ashes over my palm and let the light breeze carry his ashes into the wild.

Every day, I missed him as little pieces of the world reminded me of him.

A conversation.

A moment in a book.

A song.

I found him most often in music. I experienced the world differently because I knew him.

That was the thing about grief, though: it was transformative in both an ugly and beautiful kind of way. No part of my life would ever be the same because I had loved and been loved by Nash Calhoun.