The first thing I learned was that denial wasn’t pretending it never happened, or denying they were actually dead. Denial was hearing a diesel engine and looking up to see if it’s Dad’s lights turning up the driveway. Denial was seeing news about Mom’s favorite show on the internet, and getting out of my chair to go tell her before sitting back down. Denial was starting to cook for three before realizing I was the only one.
I knew they were gone. I didn’t deny it. Someone just need to tell my subconscious. Because it was pissing me off.