Three months after my mom’s funeral, my dad married her sister. I told myself grief makes people do strange things. I repeated it until it sounded believable, because the alternative was too painful to face. My mom fought breast cancer for nearly three years. Even at the end, she worried about everyone else—whether I’d eaten, if my brother Robert was…
Three months after my mom’s funeral, my dad married her sister. I told myself grief makes people do strange things. I repeated it until it sounded believable, because the alternative was too painful to face. My mom fought breast cancer for nearly three years. Even at the end, she worried about everyone else—whether I’d eaten, if my brother Robert was okay, if Dad remembered his medication. She was still parenting while dying. After the funeral, the house felt frozen in time. Her coat still hung by the door. Her slippers sat under the couch. Time didn’t heal anything—it only made the silence louder.
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