“I want him to come back and tell me he loves me one last time”
I have an irrational fear that I will now cry everywhere. I fear that I’ll be choosing which brand of salad dressing to buy in the grocery store, cart full of snacks and bread and yogurts, so many yogurts, and suddenly I will burst, a broken pipe flooding the store.
“Clean up in aisle four,” they’ll announce. There will be so much water damage their insurance will have to reimburse them.
I fear I’ll lose all direction. I’ll forget I put up a pot of water to boil so I can cook pasta, and when Bracha comes home singing, she’ll ask what’s for supper, and the pot will be filled with boiling water but no pasta.
Stop thinking, Henny. Stop imagining worst-case scenarios.
This is the worst-case scenario.
This is it.
I am living it, and I am still here.
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