August 3, 2019
He died on a Sunday. The next Sunday after that is his birthday. She wonders: Do we stop celebrating someone's birthday if they're dead? Two days after they buried him she finally summons the strength to go into his room. It faintly smells of satsuma oil—his favorite oil scent from Body Shop. She locates the oil burner on his nightstand. The tea light is barely used. She smells his pillow and immediately bursts into tears. She curls up and hugs his blanket and cries and cries and cries. He would have been 80 this Sunday. Outside the wind's howling.