The sadness is no less intense, just absent for a bit at times.
I look at the stairs, awaiting his descent.
I think of our last morning together and am tormented by my inability to help him.
I wonder if a vaccine that hadn't been offered might have saved him.
I am sorry for my failure as his protector.
I don't understand why so many others are allowed to live and he was not.
I feel vacant, floating through the days.
Might it all be a bad joke?
It's not funny.
Rebecca
