100 Words on Love: Grief

The final few weeks, the illness had taken away nearly everything that made her. The form was still there, but the light had dimmed to near nothing. I stroked her head, her face, feeling the bones through thinned skin. Her final breath skittered ragged across my hand.

She is but ashes now, still in the box they handed back to me. I don’t know what to do with them.