I Left My House Empty Three Days Before Christmas

right as dishes needed doing, and he’d mutter, “They’re working you like a rented mule.”

I’d tell him not to start.

He’d shrug and dry plates beside me.

Then he got sick.

Pancreatic cancer. Fourteen months from diagnosis to funeral. Fast enough to feel cruel, slow enough to ruin a person properly.

I got good at handling things. Bills. Appointments. Pills.continue reading …