Widowhood is a thousand practical tasks with a scream under them. The grocery store is full of items that still belong to a life with two adults making plans. The kids ask normal questions in voices that make my ribs hurt. Her coat is still where she left it because moving it feels like agreeing with reality. The house sounds wrong without her footsteps finding me. I was not prepared to become the only adult who remembers how the whole family machine worked. There are days I am functioning so well it feels like betrayal.
The Wall
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