Maybe not completely. My husband (thankfully) did not die before we got to the church altar. But as Miss Havisham sat in her home, wearing her wedding dress, walking amongst what was supposed to be her wedding feast, she was haunted by the memory of what was, or, in her case, what was supposed to be.

In a sense, I can feel one of the biggest events of my life to this point lingering and haunting me. Not in a scary way, but in an overly sentimental, nostalgic way. These quiet items have made their way into my daily spaces, sometimes collecting dust, sometimes becoming part of my everyday routine, but always reminding me of what was, what is, and what will continue to be.