I forgot

Teapot my daughter Kendall made me

On Sunday I woke up early enough to catch the morning sun in the office. Still wearing my nightgown, I snuggled into the beanbag chair to read the New York Times, maybe listen to a podcast. This used to be part of my Sunday routine when I was working - sleep late and then sit in the sun, drink tea, and read for a couple of hours before showering and getting started on the day. Decadent relaxation. So on this particular Sunday I was all settled and wondered whether Randy would bring me my tea or whether I would have to get it myself.

And then I remembered.

I didn’t cry - I just felt shocked. It was as though the whole thing had happened again. I was back to How could he just DIE? HOW could he be dead? As I’m writing these blog posts, as I’m going through his computer, I’m looking at pictures of him from high school, with his kids when they were small, from when we met and from our nearly 30 years together. And he looks so alive. I mean there he is, I just saw him, but he’s dead. How can that be?