I doodled a smiley face on the breakfast tracker sheet half an hour before life gave me a reason to google the biological processes of death. I wanted to know how long he’d been there like that before I found him. I’m now in a vicious staring contest with grief; the pulsing risk of my vocation, more of a guarantee than a risk, really.

I can’t decide if continuing to attend church is brave and essential to my eternal spiritual welfare, or masochistic and twisting metaphoric