There was one a week earlier for an 8 year old

There wasn't a drop of rain anywhere at 5 o'clock tonight but I still had my blue rain boots on from this morning when the impulse to pour was still a possibility. I heard a woman sobbing just out of sight when I walked into the small foyer of the funeral home, a low moan in what sounded like an empty room. I went up the staircase without seeing the mourner to talk to Melissa who said suicide and only then did I remember that she had told me earlier in the day that he was 12 years old.

We continued to talk about the business we had wanted to discuss and I observed a feeling of fatigue spread like gauze around my brain. I  listened to her dispatches from a recent conference and confrontation, then tried to explain that I didn't have the immediate energy to do the things I had planned on doing. Baby steps were brought up, as was gathering small pieces of information. I looked around the office we were meeting in, piled so high with loose paper and half opened boxes it had to be a joke.

Several calls came in during our conversation and each time we tried to pick up again, I struggled to remember where we had left off. Probably somewhere in our adolescent years, when we thought we had really good reasons and only now looking back can be thankful for the pauses in action.