Around 18-24 months the bereaved begin to move on… to get organized, start enjoying themselves and stop feeling guilty about this positive feeling.

It’s 13 months. It’s the 13th of July. Will died on February 13th. Tiger died on June 13th. I posted on Glow today- it was the 13th response. I feel very 13- odd, uncomfortable, prime as in I can’t be  divided by any other but myself, alone. But don’t be superstitious.

My body should have been able to handle it. I should have gone to a different doctor…. even after I looked for another doctor, after the surgery when he asked me to stick with him. I should have known. I should have gone private.I should have been on bedrest. I should have treated that long sought after pregnancy like it was glass.  Boys don’t take to me. I should be better, further along, clearer, stronger, more joyful. I should have protected my family and not gotten sloppy. I should have demanded to go to Cornell with Will. I should have demanded that they let us see Tiger.

I imagine them grown up all of the time. I imagine them as young men and that is when I most miss them.

I want someone to blow fairy dust on me and make me really sleep, feel joy, make me nicer, sprinkle me with understanding.

If I can be superstitious, after 40 years, of the number 13 why not put some faith in fairy dust?

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