Widowhood is a thousand practical tasks with a scream under them. I still reach for my phone before I remember there is no one to send the stupid little update to. I can keep the bills paid or I can breathe deeply, but not both on the same day. Her coat is still where she left it because moving it feels like agreeing with reality. Sometimes grief looks like school pickup and pretending my face is not breaking in public. I miss being the second person in a private language. I am angry at every healthy person talking to me about efficiency. I still reach for my phone before I remember there is no one to send the stupid little update to.
For my husband