The Ghost in the Back Seat Fabric

Dear Delyara, I look in the rearview mirror every single morning during my commute, and my eyes always track to that one spot on the dark fabric of the back seat where the fibers are slightly crushed from years of my brother’s heavy tool bag. He’s been gone a year now, but that small indentation is still there, a permanent physical monument to a routine that is completely broken. It’s the small, domestic details of loss that wear you down to the bone. I haven't vacuumed the back seat since the funeral; I am entirely terrified that if I smooth out that fabric, I am washing away the last physical trace of his presence, and the guilt of moving on is too much to carry.