An early morning walk to town. Time on the peaceful terrace to write and reflect. Matt and Shelby up. Time to face the work that must be done.

Go to John’s apartment. Into the living room. The couch where he died. An ashen, soft spoken room mate who didn’t sign up for this when he offered a room for rent on Craigslist. Tears. Violent and unpredictable. It is really true. He is gone. His room, the crazy jumble of a young guy not too bothered with hangers, folding, laundry, order. Hugging his pillows, lying on his bed, smelling him through the fibers of his tee shirts. It’s not enough. It’s too much. Off to the mortuary. Tall guy with the scripted conversation. His first job? How could anyone do this for a living? Get me out of here. I don’t want to be here. I am not supposed to be making these decisions about my son. Not enough air in the room.Too many questions. His script isn’t really comforting. Nothing can comfort me. We escape. Some decisions put off for tomorrow. Progress made. Back to the apartment. Better now. Folding, sorting, discovering, remembering. Stories shared with artifacts found. Lots of memories. Some laughter. Today’s goals accomplished, we head home to our lovely retreat to catch up with texts, emails, planning and preparations. A shower washes away the tears. A walk to the Lazy Dog Bar and Grill, John’s workplace for the past 6 months. His friends for dinner, his co-workers stopping at the table with hugs and stories. Laughter. Sunday night football, chicken wings. Normalcy. I look down the table expecting to see John. Manager comes to the table. “This is on us. He was the best guy, everyone loved him here. We will miss him so much.” Yes, me too.