I miss the second witness of an ordinary day

Dear Delyara, That is what still catches me. Not always the big memories. The little witness. Someone else being there for the boring weather, the mildly annoying errand, the thing that went wrong in a way too small to tell anyone else, the meal, the silence, the ordinary pacing of the evening. I miss the second witness of those things. Grief in adulthood is often made of plainness. That’s what I’m learning. The body misses shared routine in very specific ways.