It’s over, she says in the early morning. Just like that, it’s over. Support systems mobilize, you set up a triage in your living room, the other errands of the day disappear to lesser rungs on the totem pole. Two years of my life wasted, I’ll never do it again.
You tell her time heals all wounds but under your breath, it is inconsequential today, time is only the dull blade against which you push your skin, how could it bring any relief with the blood loss. I feed her pasta, nod and let the story go another round. They year continues to take from us and we wonder where it ends when the answer is
it doesn’t.
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