I went to bed last night knowing that today would be the 27th, eight months since the accident. I know I’m not exactly attracting readers to my blog by writing more about grief; I told myself – once a week at the most – but I can’t do anything else today, I just can’t.
Thanks to my phone chiming at 4:30 with a text from a wrong number, I woke from a bad dream and crawled out of bed. Wrapping a sweater tightly around myself, I crept downstairs and hit the button on the coffee maker. Mercifully, I had set it up the night before. Now I’m sitting in my favorite spot, coffee next to me, a heavy weight on my chest.
Yesterday I was looking through pictures for a post as Eby peeked over my shoulder.