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It finally happened. I forgot. When you lose someone days aren't just days anymore. Weeks aren't just weeks and years are a heavy reminder of the chasm that's opening up and swallowing what used to be. Thursdays, a full moon, the sixth day of the month, Bloody Mary's, all hold a certain weight to them that I'm quick to embrace. He deserves that, me marking each passing milestone big or small. But I finally forgot. I ran into an older couple who knew the family and asked who I was married to and, of course, when I told them, they were quick to express their sympathies. I remarked that it was coming up on 19 months, and damn how could it be that long already? Later, as I was driving home, I noticed the date on my phone. It was the ninth. A heart skidding to a halt, a deep gasp, and a hand covering a mouth as realization dawned. 19 months had come and gone. It was the first time since d-day that I hadn't commemorated the passing of another month in som...
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He was an organ donor. It wasn't a year prior to d-day that we were sitting alone in the conference room of the lawyers office while they were off finalizing our wills. Some interesting topics had come up during the meeting and it sparked a conversation about funerals and what we wanted done with our bodies. We joked and laughed because he was good at that, making me laugh even when were discussing the most morbid topics. Little did I know, less than a year later I'd be forced to recall that conversation.  "Yes," I said to the nurse who came up to me and asked if he was an organ donor.  I was fortunate enough to have a friend at the hospital who warned me about the call from the donor center. It would be long, and it would get personal, and how do you even have a conversation like that when your world is crumbling around you? Somehow I managed. Unfortunately, there's not a "select all" answer. So while family and friends gathered in the...
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We don't live close the hospital, and there was a road block, and a detour, and I still didn't know except for that place deep down that had never been touched was screaming at me something was irrevocably wrong. After parking the car, I walked calmly across the parking lot thinking, I should be running. In the movies they're always running. I wouldn't know for a while. The fact that they took me to the chapel was a clue, one I chose to misinterpret. And then the doctor finally came in and started asking questions about how Scott had been feeling the last few days, sparking an irrational hope. I finally had to come out and ask, "So he's dead?" No one had actually said it, and I needed to hear it. Maybe the questions continued. I don't remember. How he'd been feeling seemed irrelevant at that point. "So he's dead?" I probably asked that a dozen times to a dozen different people. I wish I'd been in a frame of mind to answ...
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It comes in waves. They steal my breath. Fill my chest with an unending ache. Time doesn't exist. Only before and after. It sneaks up on me when I least expect it. In the lyrics of a song. The sight of a newborn baby. The roar of a car engine. A flash of black. The expectant wag of a dog's tail. It's bullshit how life goes on.  
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