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11/18/2004: "11/17"

I just wanted to hear her voice. All I wanted, on a rather drab and melancholy day, was to hear her voice. This year, there isn't any real grief any more; it's just a photograph of a memory of the grief that was, and guilt for not being sadder, and pensiveness, and an acknowledgement of something lost. I took four roses up the hill, the duty the living owe the dead, and I made the call I owed myself, and heard her voice, and she heard mine.