Some bikers were painting my mother’s house pink after she died at 4 a.m., and I didn’t know any of them.Some bikers were painting my mother’s house pink after she died at 4 a.m., and I didn’t know any of them.

disappeared beneath your feet.

The hours that followed were a blur of logistics and disbelief. Phone calls. Arrangements. The strange, hollow feeling of moving through tasks that feel both urgent and completely meaningless.

By the time I arrived at her house, the sky was still dark.

And that’s when I saw them.

—

### A Scene That Made No Sense

At first,continue reading …