Emotional condescends to the visceral. It’s hard to breathe as the room swirls around my drowning eyes, and I sit down hard on the box closest to me. Leaning my head between my knees, flashes of the life imagined and scenes from happier times fire rapidly on the screen in my mind, like an award-show retrospective of those who’ve died. Yes, there I am in my wedding dress, peeking through the curtains when he spies me and bursts out laughing- the happiest day of my life. There I am holding his hand at the top of Vernal Falls on our honeymoon. And there, in the hallway at our little rental house as we inspect the little stick with two pink lines on New Year’s Eve. And there, holding my right hand and crying with joy as our first baby slides from my body.
“I signed them this morning. I thought you should know.” His familiar voice cracked as I jammed the handset further into my shoulder and the kids raced around my legs and over the mess of un-packing that has taken over Little House. Hot tears sprang to my eyes, and I couldn’t choke out an answer. I swallowed hard, when I opened my mouth to say something, instead of something calm a sob escaped. It’s done. It’s over. Ten years of marriage and 19 years of him being my best friend, and today, it’s over.
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