Two days before Christmas, she went into the ground. I had bought the most beautiful casket I could find, rose-grey with brass rails, and it fit her nicely. When I tossed the handful of earth onto it, I wondered how much of her was her, and how much was cancer. I felt as if I'd spoiled something. A year has passed without her.
Death is the world's most powerful vacuum.
It attaches itself to the houses of the dead and the hearts of their survivors, sucking the spirit away. And the memories ride the air from room to room, haunting me like ghosts. I think loneliness is a living thing. I feel it moving around inside me, its weight in my abdomen, right on top of my stomach. People talk about feeling things in their heart and on their chest.