both of us.
Cassie has not called.
I am not waiting for her to.
The house is quieter now.
At first, the quiet scared me again.
Then one morning, I made coffee in Patricia’s old mug and realized the silence was different.
It was not the old silence that held its breath.
It was clean.
It had room in it.
I put Patricia’s rocking chair back by the front window.
The runner still has that scrape across it.
I could repair it.
I probably will.
But for now I leave it there because it reminds me of what happens when you let people drag what matters into a closet and call it convenience.
Love does not require you to disappear.
Family does not get to turn your grief into square footage.
And help that only works when you surrender your dignity is not help at all.
It is possession wearing
