Look In the Mirror

by Catherine Steadman

Death, it turns out, to those left behind, is an activity centered around the cataloging and dispersal of material objects.

No one owes all of themselves to anyone else. We are all individuals, and what we give of ourselves, we must choose to give freely.

For a man to know himself: he must be tested.

Silence sets the imagination on fire. And my imagination is primed with fears, death high up there, death front and center of everything right now. And when you are alone there’s a lot to be afraid of: intruders, accidents, or perhaps, worst of all, the slow unspooling of your own lonely mind.

But money makes fools of us all.

Because—maybe normality is okay. Maybe it is enough.