The concept of the afterlife is never for the dead, but simply for the living.

Please come home. Please come home. Please. Please.

Dear Charley.

Did you know it will take us 3 months before we remove the tablets from your weekly pill box? Full and anticipating more days. 

7 fucking days of full tablets. For 7 more days that you should have been with us and more. Three tablets in the morning for your heart, your low blood, and for cough. And another tablet at night, for your heart. They still alarm on my phone, every 7am and 7pm. An app that’s specific for dogs and tells me you need to have your medications.

I can’t bear to remove them, and you’ve already left us 5 months ago.

I won’t forget the way I had to remove the pills from your pill box, suggested by your mom because we can’t have old pills in the cabinet. She said we need to remove it when we’re ready. When we’re ready, she always uses, when she doesn’t have the heart to tell me that at some point, we have to move on. Or that I need to make the move, so that it kind of eases the pain off of her. It’s been a dynamic we’ve had since – we’ve always gone, “Up to you,” or “When you’re ready” when it comes to your things, like the blanket you have on our sofa, or your jackets that are in the cabinet. They smelled like you for two months, and then they just smelled stale for the months after.

She started using it because I break down when I get really depressed, and I’ve spent too much time looking at your photos again when I’m drunk. It’s her safe phrase; when she needs to deal with me but she doesn’t know the best way how. I know she knows; I know she knows I know.

We got a new puppy. I’m sure you know, we’ve tried so hard to speak to you at every given opportunity to recognise the new energy in the house. Elio’s been such a great distraction, and admittedly a nice new addition. He’s been so nice to your mother, Charley. Be nice to him, I know he’s been avoiding you. But he makes her laugh, baby. He reminds her of the love you gave, and I’m happy that’s there.

I look at him and I wish it was you and I know I shouldn’t, but it just hurts me sometimes. I wish you both can be here and co-exist together, and have the fun I wish you would have, but here we are, torn about wishing you’re here everytime but we only see him and we could barely feel you.

I miss you.

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

Please miss me, too. Please come home.

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