We, as humans, need to be around others who have felt what we’re feeling.
Perhaps the fact of her mother’s death was real to her, as real as it could get, whether or not she ever saw the body.
My rights are less pertinent these days, and I’m learning restraint too late.
My own porch looked unlived-in, a stage for a performance that had yet to happen.
It would be my call to make, that perfect moment of doneness.
