My wife died in our Manhattan home. Moving out felt like losing her again.

The author's wife died of cancer.

Courtesy of the author My wife died in our Manhattan apartment after 26 years of marriage.

I couldn't move because the apartment held the memories of our life together.

Four years later, selling it helped me finally imagine a new chapter.

My wife of 26 years died on April 3, 2021, in our home on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

She was 51.

With my arms wrapped around her and my head lying on her chest, listening to her heart take its last beat, I could feel my heart stop at the same time.

I have no recollection of the immediate days following her death.

I know my sister took me to her house, and I am pretty sure she fed me, but I cannot tell you what I did, who I spoke with, or even whether I slept.

The first real memory I have is of returning to our home a few days later.

This I remember clearly.

I walked through the door, and the silence overcame me.

I sat down on the floor, barely passing through the entryway, and cried.

The warmth and comfort I had felt for 15 years every time I walked through the door was gone.