Is there life after death? God, I hope so. I think so. It is inconceiveable to me that this is all there is. No. There must be more. There has to be.

Doesn't God open another door when one closes? Why shouldn't it be the same with death? For surely death is a door that has closed.

And I do believe that Ashton has told me, more than once, that his heart goes on.

I have kept myself very busy. I think about Ashton all the time, but I no longer dwell endlessly on what might have been. Instead, I smile at what was-- eternally grateful that God gave me so many years with him. So, I no longer look for signs as I did in the days following his death. But they come. In unexpected ways.

I spend the majority of my day in the office, writing or working on clients' screenplays. On the wall near the computer, and within full view, are two 8x10 photos of Ashton. Both are stapled securely to the wall. On one a smaller photo is tacked to the bottom edge.

After needing a break from work, I left the office to stretch and get a cup of tea. When I returned the 8x10, with the smaller photo tacked to the bottom, was lying on the desk along with the small photo. The tack was on the desk beside both photos. I could not find the staples. Near where the photo had been stapled, was a large framed painting that had hung in the same place for years. Held securely by two nails, it hadn't budged since putting it up. The painting was now hanging precariously by one corner.

I was the only one in the house.

And then there is Ashton's "best friend" Tramp. A small dog that was rescued from an industrial dumpster, (along with his sister or mother. We aren't sure which). Tramp adored Ashton and couldn't bear to be away from him. "Trampie", as Ashton called him, was severely depressed after Ashton's death. He immediately attached himself to me, and I tried to ease his pain with hugs and walks --just the two of us.

Ashton would play with Tramp on our bed --mostly in the evening before Ashton went to sleep, with the two little dogs laying nestled beside him. But Tramp never played alone. And he never played with other people. Only Ashton.

A few weeks ago I was in bed and almost asleep, when Tramp started... playing on the bed, by himself. He was lunging, parking, jumping up, ducking -- as if playing with someone. As if playing with Ashton. I told him to lay down, but he wouldn't. He kept playing.

Now, every few nights, "Trampie" will go into the bedroom, by himself, and play on the bed. Ducking, dodging, barking. Happy.

Is there life after death? I think so.