I’ve vaguely mentioned cooking meals for another family at various times in the past; on Saturday night, the woman for whom I was cooking died. She had planned to bring us homemade bread and jam on the Sunday, and it was already made—I didn’t expect her widower to bring it the next morning, but he did. It was sudden and not sudden—she had and rejected two lung transplants, and was not doing very well—and now she’s gone, and I will never get to talk about comic books with her again, which is an embarrassingly small loss next to her husband Ben’s.
Yesterday afternoon, my brother returned from the hospital after a two-week stay. He looks better than you might expect after five surgeries. I sort of want to connect this to my last paragraph, but any attempt looks garishly trite on the page. But I’m grieved that we’ve lost Hillary, and glad that we haven’t lost Billy. I would be more than happy to have lower stakes in our lives for awhile, please.