The Day After.

Such a deep title. “The Day After” what? It is the Day After I spilled a glass of cheap box wine on the keyboard of my laptop. And this..this…is the test of said laptop keyboard. Halleluiah. A simple victory.

The day after has many meanings. The biggest is this one: The Day After That Party When I Found My Husband Dead.

But let’s talk about so many other Days After. So many days when I have woke with regret, unspecified, drink-induced, just motherfucking angsty regret. For some reason the first thought I have is of a light bulb, hanging from a mid-ceiling drop, with a note taped to it’s tip. “I was here, you weren’t. I hope you are OK. Love, Danny.” I woke up to find that sweet note…..that day after, in my senior year, after partying with someone other than Danny and not making it home until morning.

That Day After I woke knowing I was capable of being unapologetically untrue.

Years later, men later, untrue later. I found that one that would break that cycle. The one that would hold all my days

Days later, days after. Now I am years later. All I can think about is the day OF. The day I found him…on his right side, eyes closed, lips blue. Just an hour before he had brought me coffee and toast.