Good Mourning

Fiorella didn't realize she was in mourning.

Yes, her father had died, but she didn't cry. He had been dying inch by inch for five years and wasn't even aware of himself. Besides, her parents had taught her to hang tough, to plow on through, despite everything.

But her world turned gray, literally. She couldn't bring herself to wear the vibrant reds and pinks that constitute the bulk of her wardrobe. Blues, lavenders, blacks, whites--those were her choices, day after day.

And she dropped off the RWA e-mail loop for about a month because she didn't feel like saying anything. And after fulfilling her outstanding social obligations, she didn't feel like going anywhere. And, wonder of wonders, she didn't even feel much like eating.

Looking back, Fio understands that she was mourning because she never accepted the idea that her father would die. In fact, she was still praying for the miracle cure. His death was not a blessing.