In real life, she's still here, although it's to that point it's a matter of "when," not "If." (I know it's always a matter of "when" for all of us, but usually I'm able to pretend.) She's not daunted at all by death and she is more joyful than anyone I know or have ever known.
When she dies, it will be a huge, huge hole.
I lay there and felt the space behind my eyes turn to liquid.
Then I tried to calm myself down by thinking about how to describe the feeling when you just begin to cry. Thinking about how to describe something is good way to distance yourself. When I learned my mom had had a very serious heart attack in September 1997, I was peeling apples for a pie while my baby played on the floor. I found myself kneeling in my kitchen, still clutching the peeler, sobbing. And part of my standing off to one side and taking notes.
Do you think being a writer is just a defense mechanism? Like people with multiple personalities?
Appreciate the people you love today.