The Summer Without You -

The routines we shared became haunted houses. Making lemonade without your instruction to add “just a whisper more sugar” produced a drink that was technically correct but spiritually bankrupt. We do not realize how much of love is ritual until the ritual has no priest.

The most disorienting discovery of that summer was that my body continued to function. My heart pumped. My lungs filled. My fingers typed emails and turned doorknobs. This felt like a betrayal. How could cells divide and nails grow in a world where you did not exist? the summer without you

Rescue came from a place I did not expect: not from friends (who offered casseroles and clichés), not from time (which moved like molasses), but from a single, feral cat. A mangy orange tabby began appearing on the back steps in late July. It had no collar and one torn ear. You would have hated it. You were a dog person, loyal and uncomplicated. The routines we shared became haunted houses