Inconstant Memory

Dear Rachel,

I keep forgetting that you’re gone.

I’m not senile (not yet, anyway). It’s not as if I actually think that you’re alive, it’s just that every once in a while—and only for a fraction of a second—I forget that you’re dead.

I’ll look out the window and see that it’s snowing and I’ll catch myself thinking, “Oh, snow! I hope it’s still snowing when Rachel visits; she loves the snow!” Or I’ll run across some cool gadget and think, “I’ll call Rachel about this. She’d love it.”

Once in a while, I’ll even think, “God, I miss Rachel. I should give her a call.”

So I’m calling. Can you hear me?

Love,

Dad