I've been practicing Mom's eulogy in the bathroom mirror for a week. Every morning before the first milking, I stand there and try to get the words right.
This morning I was stuck on the part about her laugh. How do you describe a sound that's been gone for a month?
The old fold-out map of the river valley was on the counter. I'd highlighted the route to the drive-in we took every summer. Joe's cast was supposed to come off this week.
I heard the bathroom door open. Joe stood there, his left arm finally free, flexing his fingers like he was testing them. He saw the map on the counter and let out a laugh.
It was Mom's laugh. The exact same pitch, the same way it surprised you.
I didn't say anything. I just looked at the mirror and the words for the eulogy fell into place. It was like she'd shown up to help me finish.
After he left, I finished the eulogy standing there. Then I went out to milk the herd. That day wasn't ordinary anymore.