zigzag

Day 38

It's nine at night and I'm eating cold oatmeal. This is supper.

If it were you who died and Rich survived, what would he be doing?

So asks the bereavement counselor.

Eating cold dinners, I say, and we laugh.

I start answering, but zigzag into I can't believe he's not in the world and don't know where I'm in the world and then end -- as if this isn't already obvious -- that when I get out of bed in the morning I have no idea what Candace-without-Rich will do or say. Sometimes she runs off to a movie and stays out late, sometimes she's in her pajamas by sunset, sometimes she starts filling out yet another after-death form and soon finds herself away and gone at a cafe where she's having a latte and making a list of what must be done.

And it's okay.

Candace