I'm still here. He's still gone.

To be honest, I haven't been posting as much because to write about him, I have to think about him...and it hurts too much to think about him.

Some times are harder than others. One of the worst is when I first get home from work. His name is still on our mailbox when I check it in the lobby. Occasionally, there is still even mail for him.

I slowly climb the one flight of stairs, then there's that crushing moment before I unlock the apartment door, when it still feels like I will open it and he will be standing there at the stove cooking dinner, only to turn around, grin and say, as always, "Heeeeeeey, buddy! There he is." Or, if I'm late, he'll be sprawled there on the sofa in front of the t.v. eating a sandwich and smoking a cigarette: "It's about time you got home. The mail's on your bed. Nothing but junk. It's almost time for "Jeopardy."

But, when I open the door no one is there. He's gone. Forever.