I just got off the phone with Josh. Tomorrow Soupy will be scooped into the afterlife. I promise to spare you the teary details.

Today would be a good day for a husband. On this scratchy day. Very grey. Very cold. Every now and then a flurry of snow flakes fall in quick bursts and briefly coat the sidewalk. The house is empty without Sarah who is away for the night in the seaside town of Astoria. I am working, finishing. In fact I could very well send off patterns and sew samples to the manufacturer tonight. There is closure everywhere I look. A husband would be nice, on this grey day of endings. He would hold me, distract me with his concern and the smell of his neck. He wouldn't know what to do with all of this sadness and so I would temper it for him. I would try to spare him the discomfort of being unable to comfort. And in doing so, would comfort myself. A husband would make miso soup and a fire. He would be waiting, head on pillow, book propped on chest, low light directed at the pages. Welcoming me to crumble into bed and settle myself against his support and warmth.

Yes, today would be a good day for someone like that.

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