Around this time last year was when we first realized T. was seriously ill. Everyday is some kind of anniversary from now until June 19, when he passed away - or really until September 13, when M. did.
I sit everyday on the same spot of the couch where T. spent his last moments. I read there, work there, watch TV, often fall asleep. T. and M. used to join me here, just as J. and F. do now. It’s the most ordinary place on earth to me - but it’s also his grave, in a way.