His reading glasses were not on the small table where I expected to see them.

He had taken his favorite pair to Nashville.

I kept looking at the empty space.

There were messages to send and people to inform.

Each time I said that he had died, I felt I was doing something to him rather than reporting something that had happened.

One afternoon, a friend came over with soup and asked whether I wanted her to stay.

I said yes, then spent ten minutes saying almost nothing.