4 days later

I had this moment last night, when I was trying to fall asleep. I reached out my hand for the glass of water next to the bed ... and my arm was her arm. I don't think it meant anything ... except that I am here and she is not and people have been assuring me, "She lives in you. She'll never really be gone. You will help keep her memory alive." I took some Tylenol PM (the first time I've needed it) and then fell fast asleep.

I've been okay. As well as can be expected I guess. There is always something to do. Someone is always saying something to you. My brother's kids are here showing me in how many ways life goes on goes on goes on. Bouncing balls that almost knock over the framed photo of my mom, over there, garlanded with red roses and yellow mums. Everyone winces, but no one says anything. What can you say?

All the while, I have images and sounds in my head of that last night--images and sounds I want to keep present and alive as much as I want them to go away. Good as well as bad. Images and sounds. But no words. For now.

There are ants all over the house--stowaways, no doubt, on some bouquet. They crawl over the walls, and photos, and somehow onto your arms. And my nephew sings some superhero song. And my niece practices her arithmetic.