I prefer working. I need to be active.

Andrew used to say I loved nothing more than a long to-do list. I’d make a face at him, rolling my eyes. But he was right. I’m most comfortable being busy, making plans, having places to go, even if it’s just to the grocery store. I have an ongoing list for that, too.

Add on.

Cross off.

Accomplished.

I’m all about the doing. And now Andrew is gone and I’m cracked. Broken. So broken I can’t even make a single list.

Don’t know what to do anymore.

Don’t know where to go.

• • •

The shuttle picks me up on time but traffic is terrible on the way to Phoenix International Airport. I’m panicking that we’re not going to get to the airport before they start boarding. It shouldn’t be this long of a drive. I close my eyes, stressed. Eyes closed, I focus on just breathing.

Inhale to a count of ten. Exhale to a count of ten. Inhale . . .

As I breathe my thoughts drift to Dad. I have his shoes in my suitcase. I hope he’ll like them. I hope I got the right size. I’m pretty confident he’s a size eleven. Or a ten and a half. Maybe he’s a ten and a half, and in that case the elevens would be too big, particularly with his balance issues.

In the past I could have texted my mom and she’d text me back right away, giving me his size. She was good about getting back to me right away. Always. Mom was a former teacher turned principal. She died five months after Andrew. Had an aneurysm in August. It happened in her sleep. So glad she didn’t suffer.