057/100 aka 197/365

INDIVIDUAL
Word Count: 309

The day starts with the sun rising in the east, breaking into my room through the blinds on the window, articulating each slat as a separate entity yet part of the whole. I too, am an individual. I too, am tied to mankind by ribbons of faults, cords of needs that run through us all yet keep us separated by sunbeams.

The decisions I made yesterday are going to change the direction of my life. I put much thought into them. I put his car up for sale, paid off the mortgage, took his name off the insurance and credit cards, cancelled his license. I have not gone through his clothes, emptied out drawers. There’s just no immediate reason; I’ve plenty of room for my own things.

The bills are all paid: hospital, insurance, doctors, funeral home for the service and stone. Jeffrey is settled back into his routine of school, Little League, sleepovers. I won’t allow myself to cry during the day, because he wouldn’t be here anyway. The hole that he left in the morning opens for my own shower without waiting, two less pieces of toast and half a pot of coffee. I close my eyes for a moment, imagining his kiss goodbye. Then, only then, are things as they should be, as if nothing at all has changed.

It is at the dinner table that it strikes once again. The empty chair, the missing plate, things that can’t be filled with conversation about Jeffrey’s day and mine alone. I keep the room dark as we watch our regular shows on TV, almost forgetting that he isn’t there. Almost. For some things go over Jeffrey’s head and there’s no one to catch them.

And at night when I go to bed, alone until dreams return me back into a couple. Until the morning separates me again.