A dog that loves life and loves me, even when I rush him around the block.

A husband who wasn’t a monster.

A life after a death that isn’t so bad.

I’m doing okay, all things considered. No dream world needed.

The warm energy courses through my veins for a few seconds longer. I think he’s proud of me for pushing through everything I’ve endured, everything I’ve learned, and the unfathomable decisions I’ve had to make because he had to die. And I feel he’s pushing me to make one more.

I’ve brought the urn with me on a variety of occasions since its return—sometimes planned, sometimes not. I have it with me now. The intentions behind putting it in my bag today were unknown when I left for Debbie’s. It was a reflex. But I can say with confidence that whatever gut feeling I started with has morphed into decided action.

“Here,” I say, taking the urn out and putting it in front of her. “You should have this.”

“Really? You’re leaving it with me? Are you sure, Charlotte? Because I feel like I can finally be at a place where I am okay with you having it.”

Under ordinary circumstances, I would take a pause to insert something snarky. Gee, Debbie, I’m glad YOU are finally okay with HIS WIFE having it, but I know how she feels. Because I have arrived at the same place.

“Yeah, but I’m okay with you having it,” I volley back. “Like, really, really okay. Like the most okay I’ve felt about anything with the urn since it came back to me. And I feel like I should just run with that. So please, Debbie. Take it. Put it where you want. Just let me know where he ends up so that I can try to visit whenever I can.”

Debbie tilts her head and offers me a warm, sincere smile. I bathe in that peace for just a moment and she does, too. The thing that binds us may be gone, but we’ve actually never been closer. And while I don’t expect this to be the beginning of any sort of newfound relationship, it’s a box we can check off. A moment we can both be proud of.

Debbie picks the urn up and carries it ten feet over to her fireplace mantel. There are large candles and some picture frames adorning it already, but she shoves those to the side and makes room for the ceramic pot. I’m sure she’ll need to futz with it later to get the decorative balance just right, but she seems pleased with it for the moment.

“I’m putting it right here. And it’s going to stay here. And just so you know, you are welcome to visit whenever you want. Let’s be frank, I have no idea how to change that security code anyway, so just let yourself in. That would be fine.”

We both let out a laugh that feels like an air pressure valve has been released. We’ve gone through an unfair amount of heavy shit, Debbie and I, and to be able to make a simple choice that feels right for both of us is an amazing accomplishment. I’m impressed by her levelheadedness and ability to prevail in a way that allows me to forgive her for the way she’s treated me in the past. I don’t think you can judge anyone for how they act in those moments or how they choose to live their life after. I turned into a crazy numbers guru. She turned into a heartless control freak. Clearly we were all just doing the best we could and this kind of clarity takes time.