• Creaking. It's loud and echoing. I can hear him walking around upstairs. He always wakes up at the same time and the steps echo to the bathroom just down the hall. The sound used to make me jump. I would leap to attention and wait for him to grace me with his presence. I don't do that anymore.

    Now, I find myself ignoring the creaking and trying to work without glancing back at the stairs. It's hard, ignoring him like that. Some days his walking is loud and the house groans with each step he takes, other days he walks so softly that I barely hear him. Sometimes I feel guilty for ignoring him like that. I really should continue my leap to attention, but it's hard to. Occasionally, I cave and shout him a morning greeting. He never responds, but the echoes die down.

    And some days, when he doesn't return the good morning, I tell him that I love him. I never expect him to reply and he never does.

    Once, he used to respond. Once, he used to tell me hello in the morning. Once, he used to tell me what he had planned for the day. Once, he was there, walking from the bedroom to the bathroom before descending the stairs. And once upon a time, he was alive and walking those steps.