The Wall

I had one of those moments where I was trying to do something simple and thought, she would have handled this so much better. School paperwork. Scheduling. One of those thousand dumb coordination tasks that quietly hold family life together. She had a way with that stuff. Not perfect. Not magical. Just competent in a lane that now feels like a minefield to me. And it’s not even about traditional roles or who did what. It’s about the fact that every couple develops a distribution of strengths, and when one person dies, the surviving person inherits both the grief and the deficit map. It’s not just, “I miss her.” It’s, “I miss the exact ways she made this life work.”