Half a Year, Trash Day Letter

Dear M,

I stopped counting trash days when I got to one month. You died on a Wednesday. Wednesday is trash day in our neighborhood. The first two months I counted the time by how many trash days it had been since your death. Now I count in months. Six months today. Half a year. Many days, most I don’t feel like getting up. I am waiting for someone to bring the tray with the pot of tea and croissants, to open the French doors to a balcony I don’t have, to set a table, lay out a newspaper. Until that happens I suppose I will continue to get up and go to work. I like to go on walks, be outdoors, see MK. It’s the school, grocery store, church, Target, CVS that I dread. The places where I might run into people who knew you. Some are sad, some avoidant, some sympathetic. The sympathy I detest. I am ready with a picture of Murphy on my phone. She helps me to deflect the ambush. An invisibility cloak would come in handy right now. I need rest, a lot of rest. I am not getting it so much. Tonight imac had a 3 hour driving lesson! You would be pleased. Murphy had her second puppy class. The boys grades are starting to come back up. I think they are sleeping again. My sleep comes and goes, as you well know. I started a new job. I am enjoying it, but stressed at the same time. Some days I am working with hemophilia, some days bone marrow transplant patients. It feels more meaningful than the repetition of my days in the allergy clinic. Another grief booklet arrived this week, just when I thought everyone had forgotten. Tomorrow iMac and I tour another college. Details to follow….

Love,

S

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