It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.

He is coming, and I am here.

Love you..." Henry-" Always..." Oh God oh God-" World enough..." No!" And time..." Henry!

It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.

Time passes and the pain begins to roll in and out as though it’s a woman standing at an ironing board, passing the iron back and forth, back and forth across a white tablecloth.

It comes out so quietly that I have to ask her to repeat it: “It’s just that I thought maybe you were married to me.

...all of our laments could not add a single second to her life, not one additional beat of the heart, nor a breath.