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. I know all the account numbers now and I would trade every one of them for one more boring Tuesday. Sometimes grief looks like school pickup and pretending my face is not breaking in public. 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 the life we built