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Marking Time


Marking time

As I close in on the third anniversary of the beginning of my husband’s end. I did this morning what he’d done on every election morning. I mindfully pretended to be him as if he were still alive and teaching Math at Passaic High School. He’d get up early to doing a few chores, making coffee—making then packing his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Washing an apple to add to his lunch bag alongside a little bag of the mini pretzels that he liked.

He'd give me a kiss and grab his backpack, place his wallet in the front left inside pocket of his jacket, grab his car keys and say, “I’m going to vote before I head off to work. I should be home before four—unless I decide to go to BJ’s for more water. We’re good on paper goods now. My pretzels are running low. Remember to Vote. It’s important Jody.” I’d nod, “I don’t have to get to clients till one. I’ll Vote this morning right after I get the kids to school.” Then the door would close behind him. I’d stand in the kitchen and watch him exit the front door.

So, this morning. I didn’t do all my ritualistic pet chores nor my ingestion of four servings of greens with water beforehand—yet I did my stretches, cleaned the bathroom before and after my usage as usual. Checked the dryer’s filter, brushed my hair and skedaddled out the door to vote. I was the sixth person to Vote this morning at about the exact time Norm would have voted at 6:30am this morning. This time I said to the heavens, “Norm—as every election day—Democracy hangs in the balance.”---Jody-Lynn Reicher


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