Some Days

Most days, I go about my life. I think of Ingrid. I remember something, or imagine her reaction to something that's just happened, or daydream about who she might have been now.

And then comes a day, random and painful, when the only thought of Ingrid is that she's gone. I get stuck right there for a while, still crying after all these years. 

When I think about all the other friends and family that hard day must happen to sometimes, it seems it would fill a whole year. A lot of people loved Ingrid. Pick a date, and one of us must always be having that hard day.

Yesterday was my turn again.