What’s the last thing you lost that you still miss?

I keep finding little things in my coat pockets—half-used pens, a dried-up lavender sprig from the garden, a ticket stub from a train I took in ’09. Not important, but they’re like ghosts of moments I’ve already forgotten. The tree I lost to oak wilt last spring? Still not over it. But sometimes I catch myself wondering: what if I’d noticed the yellowing earlier? What if I’d just… stayed longer? That’s the kind of loss that doesn’t leave a hole—it leaves a whisper.