Vegetables and How I Cook Them: Broccoli

I woke up and the house smelled of bacon.

Lying in my childhood bed, I suddenly felt a rush of comfort. Mom was making breakfast. The house smelled like food again. Again. Pause. Intake of breath. Suddenly like cold wind rushing in through an open window. Not Mom; Mom’s dead.

She died April 5. What’s the date? Early August. It has been four months.

She’s still dead. This won’t change. Remember when you kept thinking you heard her come in through the back door, home from work, how it used to be? Four months. This isn’t going to change.