After my husband’s funeral, I returned home with my black dress still clinging to my skin. I opened the door… and found my mother-in-law and eight family members packing suitcases as if it were a hotel.
When I returned from the burial, my black clothing was still warm from the afternoon heat and had a subtle lily scent that stuck to my skin, hair, and throat. When I opened the door, I anticipated stillness. Not quite serenity, but that hollow, suspended silence that follows a loss and occurs when the world…