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65 The Crack About to Open Up (February 28, 1999) I had been noting the anniversary of Ted’s death on the 29th day of each month. February, 1999 was not a leap year. In the crack about to open up between 11:59 tonight and 12:01 tomorrow, in the abyss of that missing 29th day when I would have said now it is nine months since he died I may find myself elsewhere, in the kitchen washing dirt off the strawberries, on the internet checking my mail; I could forget to note a split in time, a phantom anniversary severed from its mnemonic function. On the day he died, we conceived a prolonged silence together. Because death plants for eternity the seed of silence, nine months is not a turning and it is no sin to watch television or read a newspaper. And yet I think of him tonight, turning over in my mind the quick time that’s gone from mindless grief to mundane life. My mourning is still young. ...

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