Day 60

I received a call from Constance’s father’s longtime friend, Linda. She was nervous because she couldn’t get in touch him and, when she texted both of us, neither replied. I explained he was out of the country on business and I had been traveling. Linda asked if we were “getting back into the swing of things now that it had been a while [since our daughter’s death].” I explained that speaking only for myself, I could say I was not. I was, instead, preparing the house for sale and taking short breaks to memorialize Constance. She said that, "made sense." The call ended and then she sent me a dozen photographs she’d recently taken in Illinois. She’s a skilled photographer.

It’s hard for people to know what to say but I appreciate that they care enough to want to say something. Few words are as accurate as depression. You are brought so low, you couldn’t possibly bring yourself up to do anything as simple as calling someone. You go through the minimum motions like a robot toy on the last few drops of battery power.

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