Pack Up the Moon

by Kristan Higgins

People carry a terminal diagnosis differently. I wanted to ride on its back like it was a racehorse, Dad.

He would love her the rest of his life, and he knew, with absolute certainty, that she would love him the rest of hers. However long or short a time that would be.

It felt wrong, somehow, leaving the church. Ending the funeral.

but he was really just a phantom limb at this point. An amputation without her.

Then he burned the clothes he’d worn to his wife’s funeral, and stood there long after they were ash and the snow began to fall.

He was forty-five minutes into cleaning before he realized he was cleaning up for her. In case she came home.

Grieving together, Josh found, was worse than grieving alone.

He was a certified genius, and his purpose in life had been to be her husband, to protect her, and he’d failed. He’d failed.

His wife had always been the brightest star in the sky.

“Get busy living, or get busy dying.” She laughed again. “Don’t you Shawshank me.”

Staying in the moment was better than wringing hands about the future.

But hopefully, she’d see all those things from the Great Beyond, with her father.

Grief was a heavy, dark blanket, weighing him down, making the smallest things difficult.

“Tell me you’ll be okay without me.” “I won’t be.”

For a short time, her death makes you the center of so many lives. And then . . . it trickles off.

Two months and one week after Lauren died, that first day came for Josh. The day when no one called, texted, emailed, dropped by.

because the acceptance of her absence was worse than the forgetting of her death.

Two ghosts drifted around their apartment—Lauren, and the Josh who had been her husband, so much more than this empty bag of bones.

Some dude on a conference call, asking about my cannula: “Well, we’re all dying, really. I could get hit by a bus crossing the street!” How many people actually die this way? Are bus drivers filled with road rage? Why not say “car” or “dump truck”? Poor bus drivers get a bad rap.

“No!” he barked, then lowered his voice. “No, Lauren. You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.” “Okay, God.” She forced a smile. “Good to be married to the Almighty. If you were a mere mortal, this might be a disaster, but lucky for me, you won’t let me die.”

So, Dad, that brings me to the last thing on my list. Meet the man you’ll marry. Consider it done, Daddy. Consider it done.

Thank you for our life together. I was so happy. I loved you with all my heart, Joshua Park. I’ll see you again someday, my darling, wonderful husband.

And though his eyes were wet with tears, she saw that flame in the dark, saw all the feelings he had for her, and she truly was so lucky, the luckiest woman on earth, because she had been loved by Joshua Park.

“It’s okay if you go,” he whispered. “You’ve fought enough. I love you. I’ll always love you, Lauren. Rest now, honey. I’m right here with you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He was, and is, and always would be, the love of her life.

Gertie the psychic had mentioned roses, too. Josh stopped walking. Holy shit.