He shrugged. ‘You don’t care.’
He was so matter-of-fact, so completely unperturbed. He was our best friend, who’d returned to college from a holiday a few days late – the only reason we knew his mother had died. And when we asked in dismay why he hadn’t told us she was even sick, we got his dispassionate answer.
Some kind of pride has always made it hard to admit that there’s a certain truth to what he said. I do care about the pain of the living. I care about their heart ache, their grief. I care very much about their healing and how their future will look to them without someone they love.
But what about those dead people – people I didn’t know?
I’ve got some dead people I loved deeply, truly and dearly and I don’t expect anyone else to care about them. I do wish you knew them…
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