the mask

 Smiling, bubbly-

she says,

"How are you,

you working yet?"

"No"

I say-

"Not Yet."

(Do you really want to know how I am?  I'm settling an estate, and taking care of several broken hearts, you know, since my son passed. Work?  Hell, I just recently started breathing and walking at the same time again.)

"Are you feeling better now?"

and I respond,

"Oh yes, much better, thank you."

(I don't know how to reply to you, if I tell you how I really feel, you shrink away, so I'll wear the mask that makes you most comfortable, we will not speak of death.)

"You must have been so proud of him, serving his country, at least he made it home alive."

and I squeak,

"Oh, I am proud, and yes, what joy we shared!"

(How trivial you make it sound, like him coming home was the most I should expect, I expected- dreamed of his future, what might have been, I was most proud of him for believing in himself,

his mark was not fully cast on this world.)

"You know", she says "God always opens a window when he closes a door."

"Yes, I know that, thank you."

I seethe.

(Lady, stand here in my shoes, look for windows, they must be covered in the thickest of veils, because all I see is he's gone.)

Finally, she offers-

"Well, take care, call me if you need anything, and smile honey, it's not the end of the world!"

Weakly I reply,

"Thank you for your concern."

(I don't know your number, shall I look in the book and call you when I'm so desperate for him that I could just melt away? Not the end of the world? Maybe not for you, but my world ended when his death collided with my life, oh how I wish it were the other way around.)