I’m still letting Michael’s death sink in. it still doesn’t seem real to me. which might seem weird (and sometimes it does even to me).

Because the disease is gone from my house and any and all traces of it, I somehow expect everything to go back to how it was before…as if it was all a mistake.

I hover between holding on to his life and being reminded that he’s actually dead.

I called Michael’s cell phone today to hear his voice and almost left a message.

His former employer sent me a letter and said that he was one of the best they’d ever employed.

But I knocked over his fishing pole in the garage.

Social Security listed him as “the deceased.”

But I woke to see his Harley rain gear hanging in the closet.

His obituary was in Sunday’s Boston Globe.

But his shoes are by the back door.