putting down a weight you’ve carried for eight years and suddenly not knowing what to do with your empty hands.
Colleen came over and sat beside me.
At noon, she asked if I was okay.
I thought I was.
She told me I had done the right thing.
Of course I didn’t attend.
But I could picture it.
Diane’s quarter-acre backyard.
The rusted swing set from our childhood still in the corner.
White plastic chairs borrowed from church.
Folding tables covered by cloths that didn’t quite reach the edges.
A
