Tuesday, July 02, 2013

Morning

We got up early to clear away bottles while the fog still sat low on the waves. A couple of days' worth of bowls of guacamole and ash needed to be rinsed and set aside, the recycling put out by the bougainvillea. I made a neat stack of old paperbacks while the old coffeemaker cheerfully did its job. I glanced at the  box of freshly-pressed elegant stationary, "Thank You For Your Sympathy."

When it was me, I hadn't used any of the cheap, floral cards the funeral home had given me. I didn't thank anyone for their sympathy.

We put on sweaters and carried our coffees out onto the rock. The tide was high.

"I don't think we're going to be be back here for a long time," she said.

We drank our coffee with almond milk and I thought about my mother's name, dimming slowly until it finally goes out; her last death.