And then he was gone, and I sat alone in his empty hospital room, holding the hand that had gone still, and I was stunned, genuinely stunned, by how much silence a person I had known for such a short time could leave behind.
Seven days.
I had been married for seven days, to a man I had known for less than a year, and his death opened a hole in me that felt entirely out of proportion to the time we had shared.
I did not understand, sitting in that silence, why it hurt so much.
I would understand soon.
Because a few minutes later, an elderly man walked into the room, carrying a heavy green backpack, and everything I thought I knew about my brief, strange marriage was about to come apart.
I have wondered, since, whether the hole Julian left in me was really out of proportion to our seven days, or whether I simply did not yet know how much those seven days had contained.
