Windows

Wrench open your paint-sealed windows with a palette knife. Fight with the rusted door, wet it with sweat and saline and coax it to give in. Once air is moving, you've begun the process in earnest.

Walls

Stare at them. Find the details: the scuffs and the scrapes and the bright spots and the divots. Wash the surface thoroughly with memory.

Hallway

Pace the narrow hallway several times. Vacuum it to erase thousands of footsteps. This is why you Spring Clean, because if you don't it all builds up. It's easy to let it go. It's easy to focus on work or sex or video games or booze or booze or booze. Slam the mop into the baseboards and slick off layers until you're down to the original state. It won't look the same as it once did, really, but it will be a version of the same.

Bathroom

Spray down the mirror and watch your face melt into tiny droplets. Tear at the New York Times and wad it up in your hands. Wipe ink and sweat on your sweatpants. Scrub down the mirror with the newspaper, listen to the surface shriek. When you're done, there should be no more droplets on your face.

Bedroom

Strip the bed down to its bones. Smell the sheets before you wash them. Alternatively, get new sheets so you stop smelling for someone that is no longer there. You will do it with the new sheets. You will never stop smelling for the someone that is no longer there.

Kitchen Table

Shove the death certificate, the proxy paperwork and the memorial service program in a plastic filing box. Don't look at the wedding cards. Put them alongside everything else in the folder. Label the folder with his name. Write it like you're writing it for the last time: Daniel.