I sat, staring at the broom in the corner. I had never really noticed before, but the broom had only half of its bristles. I was simply in a moment of disbelief and I guess all I could seem to do was just stare at this broom. There was nothing particular about it, I just didn't know what else to do. It seemed to bring me some sort of comfort...a sense of simplicity. The easy, simple task of sweeping. I began to wonder how many times I had actually cleaned the floor of the old lake house. We had owned the lake house for over 25 years now, but had been spending time in it since we were kids. As teenagers we used to sneak down in the middle of the night and spend the evening together. We knew the old man who lived here was only there during the week. He was some rich bum who spent more time fishing and relaxing than he did with his own kids. I would wait for her outside her house in the earlier part of the evening. I would hide in the bushes and grove of young trees across from her front porch until she came out. Then we would quickly run off, back up her road and towards the main road. The run-down dirt road that the lake house was on was only half of a mile down so it was a manageable walk. We used to hold hands as we walked down the long dirt road, frightened by the slightest of noises. Whether it was the creak of the empty branches of the deciduous trees or the wind rustling the leaves on the ground, she would jump and clench my hand tighter. It made me feel needed and somehow more grown up when I was younger. I think back to how naive it all seems now...I laugh to myself.

We would make our way up the old, weathered blue front porch and slowly pull open the wood-framed screen door. She would release my hand as soon as we were inside the old cottage. It was like a home away from home she used to tell me. It was her escape from all the suffering that took place at her dad's house.

Let's just say she had a tough childhood growing up. All I knew was that her father was a broke, alcoholic with 2 kids and that he ran a gas station just on the other side of town. I only met him once and he never bothered to ask her where she was or where she was going. She was always quiet about her time at her father's. She never liked to talk about the ongoings at the Witmore house. For example, we were married for 30 years and I still only heard her talk about it twice. I felt bad because he was all she had. Her father and her older sister Trista, who no longer lived at the house, for obvious reasons. Her mom had passed away from cancer back when we were in 1st grade, so she had no one else. I remember that day in school that she got the news. I didn't know her that well but I felt bad that her mom had died. So I played and talked with her and eventually we became friends. I guess I sort of filled the void in her life.

When we were older and I had my dad's old pick up, I used to take us down to the old house in the dead of winter. The sound of dead silence in a snowstorm was the most awe-inspiring thing that I've ever experienced on this Earth. I still enjoy going for walks during a snowstorm and just listening to the silence. The sound of nothing, combined with the sight of dancing snowflakes as they came down into view of the high beams of the truck, was an unknown paradise. She would squeeze up next to me from the passenger seat and curl her arm around mine until we arrived at the cottage. We would take candles and blankets into the house and have little talks. We would sit by candle light wrapped up in so many blankets that we couldn't carry them back to the truck. Eventually we started just leaving them there. The old man only came in the summer by that time so we would leave the blankets in one of the closets by the front door.

I remember one night in particular, the moonlight was exquisitely bright. We gazed out the front window and looked upon the lake. The silver moonlight, accompanied by the white snowflakes was a picture only to be seen in the northern part of Oregon. 'Simply stunning' were the words that I remember her echoing.

Now, as I sit in that exact corner by the front window of that old cottage house, I picture two young kids sitting next to me. They are gazing out that window at the lake that has been the setting to so many good adventures. Yet, as I see them next to me in my mind, I still sit here staring intensely at the broom in the corner with only half of its bristles. She left me too early, I think to myself. The cancer was too far along and there was nothing that the doctors could do. It had spread too much. It must have been hereditary.

I went to visit her in the hospital this morning like I do every morning. She had been in the same physical state for a while now. Pale and weak but still with some kick left in her. I guess that was just her personality. It gave me hope. I proceeded to sit down in the chair next to her bed and unpack the book for the morning. We had been reading a new book every day for the past 2 months when she was admitted into the hospital. It was the only excitement in her day. The rest was spent resting and receiving medication. Today's book was The Hobbit. She loved nerdy things like that. I read the first 4 chapters until she interrupted me mid sentence. "I want to go on an adventure like Bilbo. I want to adventure to far away lands and meet people of new worlds. I love this book," she said with a smile. I smiled back at her and continued reading. There was a long break until she next spoke. This time she said, "You know, Forrest Gump was right. Life really is like a box of chocolates. I guess your job is to see how different your box is". I laughed and said, "Yes. I suppose he was right". I was in a quiet mood today and didn't have much to say. She always made things seem so simple to me. I guess I just enjoyed how she explained the deeper meaning so I didn't feel obligated to say much. "I guess the people that you have in your life share a piece of chocolate from your box," she continued. She then turned her head over in the bed and closed her eyes. I closed the book and just stared at her, reliving all the memories again.

I soon left to return back home to the lake house. When I returned home, I collapsed on the old sofa and fell asleep as well. I awoke to the ringing of the house phone. I groggily staggered up, stretched and reached over to the side table and picked up the phone. A voice came through the phone that I recognized. It was her doctor. I spoke up quickly "Doc, is everything okay?". "Mark, I'm not sure how to tell you this. The worst has happened. She has passed. I'm so sorry." Instantly there was a ringing in my ears, like a firework had gone off beside my head. I was oblivious to my surroundings. I hung up the phone and strode over to the dining set next to the window. Questions ran through my head, most of them going unanswered. I am left here while my other half is gone. I then turn and see the broom in the corner of the room and understand the meaning.