I Liked My Life

by Abby Fabiaschi

People think of ghosts as haunting, but it’s the other way around. You all haunt me. My life is now a delicious dessert just out of reach.

With me gone he’s lost weight, too much weight. I notice it especially in his face, where his skin suddenly hangs to his cheekbones for dear life.

I don’t remember anyone ever saying Gram had Alzheimer’s. If she got drunk and housed pills it was on purpose, which means we have a family history of suicide. Maybe there are more hands on Mom’s corpse than I thought.

I have a daughter who is bold and smart and I cannot take any of the credit.

I loved how you made me feel like I was the smartest, funniest, most generous man in the world, even though I’m learning I wasn’t.”

She smiles before answering and the whole room relaxes. Rory’s smile is as contagious as a long yawn.

“Do you still miss Emma?” She wants so badly for Rory to say no, that time really has healed the wound. From Rory, Eve might believe it. Rory knows what Eve is fishing for—she remembers asking more tenured grievers the same question—but she won’t set a false expectation. “Every single day,” she whispers. “It’s there, and it hurts, but it does become … I don’t know … familiar.”

For those who do remember, her birthday now marks the end of her life instead of the beginning. She died at forty-five. Every year I’ll think of it that way: She would’ve been forty-six or forty-seven or forty-eight today. Her birthday left with her.