Tag Archives: Mourning

Grocery Shopping

I wrench a cart from the stack where they nestle like spoons, and take the route I’ve always taken— up the main aisle, one-eighty degree turn, down the next. Skip the eggs (I still have half a dozen in the … Continue reading

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Measure of Love

In the instant you collapsed, I knew you’d left me, but your heart kept pumping, lungs struggling for breath, body flat out, length six feet one, weight a hundred and thirty-five pounds. In the hospital, they gave you a thirty-two-ounce … Continue reading

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Things I want to tell you. Questions I want to ask.

I’m selling your jeep. I don’t want to, but I can’t get Craig to take it, so it will have to go. And for the first time ever, I paid for an oil change— I know, I know, but you’re … Continue reading

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