There is something very comforting about spending time with people who loved Constance. It is as if they understand what I've lost. Perhaps this is counter-intuitive, but I feel I can share stories about her more openly. They remember things too.
Yesterday I had the pleasure of spending the day with Constance's Aunt Erika. I was highly flustered after having been delayed by a railroad train and more exasperatingly a funeral procession. I put a lot of energy into not crying.
I had underestimated how emotional making chocolates without Constance would make me. Constance and I had so many lovely memories cooking together. Chocolates were something special we did just been the two of us. To comfort myself I hugged Erika and placed my head on her shoulder as if I could fall asleep standing.
I told Erika about the former friend who had done something very unkind to me in January. We drank wine.
While dipping bananas I sang, "Day-0," by Harry Belefante. It is a song about the unionization of Caribbean agricultural workers but it is as close to a song about bananas as I know. I felt this counted for double points since we were at Loyola and Harry was Catholic. A woman at our table said, "I think the workers are going to rise up here." Erika and I changed the subject. Much to the mercy of those with the gift of hearing, I stopped singing.
To save time I started placing the freshly deep pretzels directly in my mouth. When I was out of chocolate, mostly because it was on my face, hair, neck, chest, arms, hands, and dress, we called it a day.
Whenever I see Erika I want to say over and over again, "Thank you for loving Constance. Thank you for caring for her so. Thank you for being such an amazing friend." Instead, I try to be normal; it never works.
