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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