When Things Get Back to Normal by M.T. Dohaney

time, I catch fleeting glances of the back of your head, the set of your shoulders, the crook of your smile.
APRIL 26 –
Saturday
    I saw a crocus peeping out of the ground today.
    My first instinct was to go back in the house and get you to come out and see it, just so I could prove to you they really do grow best beside the chimney. The ones you planted by the back porch are still dormant.
MAY 1 –
Thursday
    But the merriest month in all the year
. . . . Met an acquaintance downtown today. It was my first encounter with her since your death. She offered her condolences and went on tosay that she always considered us a study in opposites – big-small, dark-fair – then added that dreaded cliché: life goes on.
    I wanted to shout at her, Maybe it does for you. But not for me. Instead I replied, “So they tell me.” She continued on her way, glad she wasn’t me.
MAY 3 –
Saturday
    Steve came home, and we went to pick out your monument. No small task, as it turned out. I was always under the impression that a monument is a monument is a monument. But
au contraire
.
    There are Rolls Royce monuments and Volkswagen monuments and various and sundry models in between. We were given a price list that filled two pages and a catalogue of glossy pictures from which to make our selection. Size: big, medium or small. Double or single. Style: satin-faced or high sheen with polished or unpolished sides. Lettering: large or small. Steven said double size and double names – yours and mine. And both put on now!
    I said, “Whoa, there! My name isn’t going on any marble slab while I’m above the ground.” He acquiesced very reluctantly, stating that he had scouted the cemetery and other wives had their names engraved in waiting. He didn’t come right out and say so, but I knew he felt hisfather deserved no less loyalty from his wife than for her to make a prior commitment to sharing his marble slab. We quickly moved on to the next decision, the motif or design that could be placed at the top of the stone – and this would be thrown in for free.
    â€œThe mister,” the stone mason said, his voice suitably subdued. “Did he like fishing? I’m good at carving fishing rods.” Steven jumped in eagerly. “Hockey?” He fairly shouted the word. “Can you carve a hockey stick or a pair of skates?” “Whoa again,” said I. “It was hockey that put your father in the ground, and I have no intention of making a monument to its victory.” Although again he grumbled his disagreement, we finally settled for the joined hands motif and your name only, with a space waiting for mine.
MAY 5 –
Monday
    My concentration is fluctuating around the zero mark. I thought by now I would be back to normal.
    Certainly the rest of the world expects me to be. But I’m definitely not. I walked across Regent Street this evening without as much as a backward glance at the five o’clock traffic. I actually forgot to look. Someone up there must be protecting me. Yesterday I put on my makeup and then came downstairs and made a cup of coffee.Ten minutes later, I was back in the bathroom washing my face, completely forgetting I had just done that job.
    Someone asked me today, “What stage are you at?” She said this as though I woke up one morning and knew beyond a reasonable doubt that my emotions had left sorrow behind and had now moved into guilt or anger or whatever. Actually, some days I feel anger, sorrow, guilt, acceptance all within the course of a few moments. Other days I’m strong into self-pity. How I feel depends on what has gone on in my day. Sometimes I feel I haven’t made any progress since November, and I’m convinced I’ll never even find the tunnel, much less the light at the end of it.
MAY 8 –
Thursday
    Spring has temporarily turned into summer. I ran away today. This is the first time I actually, physically ran