I sucked the cold air into my lungs, feeling its frosty burn mixed with the smoke from my joint. Each night I stood under the stars, awaiting the moon as its beams slowly crested the mountain top. I counted. I stared. I questioned. I was enveloped in numbness, but craved pain—or at the very least a physical reaction that matched the gravity of what had happened. I could mentally lay all the pieces out in front of me, but worried my brain was protecting me from fully comprehending all that had unfurled. I was too calm, too at peace. How could I be so alright when everything I’d known had dissolved before my eyes?
Another week of limbo flashed before me. March 20th—one month since the accident, one month of floating that was finally nearing its end. I set off for Philadelphia with a busy week ahead, having cancelled the birthday trip to New Orleans in favor of a weekend staycation with girlfriends. It would be my first birthday in a decade without Steve.