In a list on a website Jim had never heard of before, number six instructed grieving partners to “carry on with usual activities.”
Fiction
I’m on Highway 1
The longer he waited, the angrier he became, until he’d had enough, he told Audrey from his hospital bed. She imagined her eighty-one year old father’s fury—his fierce scowl, the way his pink cheeks turned a bright, flaming red. She knew that face too well.
Love Song for the Headless
Her incompetent doctor said she should simply learn to live with pain. So she got a second opinion. And here she was, in this waiting room that resembled the purgatory she was no doubt headed toward.