In the early days of grief marking time is significant. It tethers us to a painful event which dramatically shifted our world. And it acknowledges the longing associated with the before.
Before and After.
Both Waverly and Oliver died on Wednesday mornings. Just like the months after her death, I find myself anticipating the number ticking up Tuesday night as I climb into bed. I replay the hours before his death. The smells - a candle my friend brought because I had forgotten one and she knows my scent obsession with memory. The sounds of Oliver's inconsistent breaths. The heaviness of my eyelids longing to close after many sleepless nights. The weight of Oliver's hand in mine. And as I play out the hours of Tuesday into Wednesday I inevitably come to the moment. The after.