Relief

My keychain feels lighter. 

My driveway feels emptier.

Rick's car is gone.

It gives me a twinge of pain to know that it's gone. I did have a sad drive to the notary to do the title transfer. It felt weird to be driving Rick's car...and more, to be driving Rick's car for the last time.  It felt weird to think that he will never drive it again. That I'll never see it on my street again.

But I also felt a new and surprising emotion: relief. After jumping through several hoops, completing paperwork, and registering the will, I have the money to pay for the funeral and some other bills. It's done. I don't have to see Rick's car, parked forlornly on the street, waiting for an owner that is never coming home. I feel lighter. Less weighed down.

I am only one person, and now I only have one car. I am only one person, and now I only have one set of keys. I feel freer. Relieved.

When I got home tonight after selling Rick's car, I fed the cats and immediately got in my car to run an errand. Rick's sunglasses still mingle with mine in the dashboard tray of the car. He sometimes drove my car, so he always left a pair there. I picked them up and drove into the sun, wearing Rick's sunglasses instead of my own. I smiled. I breathed a sigh of relief. Said a few words to Rick. Smiled again. I actually felt...good. So you know what I did?

I turned on the radio.

And I sang along.