48 hours
48 hours ago I did not know that my son was lying cold in his bed. I did not yet know the gut-wrenching pain that restricts my chest, twists my insides and empties my bowels. 2 days ago I did not yet know that his pain had exceeded his tolerance or that he wasn't in pain any more. The day before yesterday, I knew whether I wanted a cup of tea and what I would do tomorrow. I took pork out of the freezer for dinner and I knew what would become of the stack of frozen pizzas sitting next to it. Today I suspect that neither the pork nor the pizzas will ever be eaten by anyone. In the life before, time passed in a predictable way. Hours felt like hours and a day lasted 24. Now a minute can last for eons, an hour disappears like fairy dust and the day after tomorrow is an unimaginable mystery too distant to touch. Tuesday I only knew his sweet face that so easily broke into the most infectious smile I've ever known. I hadn't yet seen it contorted in death. I only remembered t...
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