…and (apparently) it showed. I talked to my mom later that night, and after the first minute of the conversation, she commented that i sounded happier than I had the last time we talked, the week before.
Lavearn’s death almost depressed me, and I did carry it around with me for a while, wondering about the cause of death, her finals hours, minutes, and how long her body sat, or lay in her house, before the police discovered it. But the most unpleasant thought, the one that pushed me the closest to depression, was/is the fact that I will never see Lavearn alive again. We will never talk about God, or family, or Harry and Meghan, or Obama, or what is really going on behind the scenes at work.
It is so abrupt and final.
I didn’t go to the funeral for me, to feel good about myself, to be able to live with myself. I know it pleased her to see me there.