Grief Spiral
With a notecard and a roll of packing tape in hand, I marched my way up to the mailbox.
"Cameron is dead," read my message in stark red Sharpie, which I now realize looked a bit garish. However, in the weight of the moment, I was too proud, too dedicated to my mission to retreat and revise. I was not going to stop, even for a second, until my message was fastened to the inside of the mailbox. Unmissable to the postman's eye.
