...to use grief parlance, the past few weeks.
The irrefutable facts remain, though: Tuesday night made six weeks since he was due at my place; Wednesday six weeks since he was "officially" late by the time frame he gave me; tomorrow will make six weeks since he was confirmed dead and seven weeks since we spoke on the phone; Sunday eight weeks since we saw each other in person for the final time, in my living room, going over instructions for bunny duty (he was taking care of Xander while I headed to Portland for three days).
Of course, those numbers will move in only one direction, growing larger with each passing second and with no plateau or respite.
As Elliott Smith once sang, "Oh, well. Okay."
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