She would, at this time of day, be up in her office, fooling with tax stuff, reading her missal and writing checks and stuffing them into white envelopes.

“You have to get me some envelopes,” She would shout down, “and stamps when you go to the post office.”

I can still her voice. Sometimes I answer, “I will,” to, “did you lock the back door?”

But then I answer whenever I feel her smile from the shadows. It’s an ancient Irish thing.

My few friends (we never had a “crowd”) smile politely and understand our “quirks.”

When I tell semi-strangers that She is very much around this house and not sitting on a cloud with wings — I know what they’re thinking.

“OK, let’s not get into the many beliefs on end of life stuff.”

Yes, I still talk and listen to her — who else? It was that way for 65 years. Why change?

Whatever puffs into my head sounds like her voice whispering “do the laundry now, or “go to bed early.” We shared our thoughts for 65 years, so why quit when it’s most important?

Many of you are sharing this end-of-life dilemma and how to begin anew. I hear you.

I have the help of a super lawyer who happens to be my best friend, and I have two attentive daughters who dote on me. The youngest, Jillana, who sits at her desk in L.A. bringing me into the new mystery world of online banking together every day, and the oldest who fills my larder with magic eatables.

Our house, like yours, is full of myriad pieces of furniture with so many drawers.

I never knew we had so many, and I’ll bet you will have to go count yours now.

She always knew where everything is, even now, and guess what? I get a “ghostly hint.” I go and look and there it is. Thank you, Kay.

I don’t cook much now. Those big recipes were too much work and she ate so little of them. And the markets have so many new ideas.

The well-wishers keep giving me fattening sugar cookies, goodies, muffins, candy, etc.

You would think they’d come to the door with a meatloaf, lasagnas, soups, stews or goodies like the pea soup our oldest best friend still delivers. God bless her.

You’d think someone would drop a six-pack of Heinekens, or Clausthaler zero-alcohol fake beer. They’re amazing. No alcohol, just the old-fashioned magic foam.

I gave up alcohol years ago, and besides, when you lose a “Memory Star” like She who never drank, you don’t want to go crawl into a corner and start mumbling to a cockatiel.

And that great Poland Springs Orange bubbly water. Now, I would open the door for a case of that.

And there’s the part where you can’t find important stuff that She had in her “magic” desk. You want to be sober when you go looking in there for stamps and paper clips and important recipes, and those deeds and income tax papers.

I have two daughters who are good at that.

And I have these: my patient editors to indulge the writer from “away” and a flock of old and new readers who seem to put up with me.

Uh oh, there’s her voice again: “Come on, let’s get on with it.”

J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer.