Fourteen Days
September 7. It’s a Tuesday. I’m home, in the middle of a long weekend. Yesterday was Labor Day, today and tomorrow are Rosh Hoshanah. So I’m home, and it’s a slow, sad five days in a house without my Julie. She died two weeks ago. Fourteen years with her, fourteen days without her. Somehow the latter feels longer than the former. I keep thinking that I hear her. The house emanates sounds it didn’t used to make. I keep thinking there’s a rustling sound from the next room over, or that I hear her jumping up on the table in the other room. Lord knows why, but I always get up to look to see what I’m hearing, and I’m always a little surprised when she’s not there. And she keeps popping up in my dreams. The old Julie, that’s the one I dream about. Full of life, never far away from me. It’s not just me, for what that’s worth. Angela said the same thing the other day — that she keeps thinking she hears Julie. Maybe it’s her spirit, still in the house, saying hello. ...
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