Day 27

Friends keep asking when they can come over to “grieve with me.” I don’t think they realize that, instead of a house filled with furniture and mementos, mine is filled with contractors and dust. I can’t image how sitting on the floor crying with a friend would help. My natural impulse when I see someone crying is to comfort them. That doesn’t seem like the appropriate response here.

I used to be a social person. I found a photo of the contents of my purse the last time I changed primary handbags. I stared intensely at the photo as if I were looking for Waldo. I tried to piece together the characteristics of the person who packed this particular grouping of things. I can’t quite recall her.

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