It made her think of the days after her parents died, the laundry basket still full of their unwashed clothes, the refrigerator stocked with food her mother had planned to cook that weekend, her father's cell phone filling up with calls from customers who wanted to know why he had missed his appointments. At first they would leave behind a few empty spaces in the world - customers who relied on her father, patients who were waiting for her mother to nurse them at the hospital, friends and coworkers and acquaintances who would miss them, for a time - but these were very minor rips and tears in the fabric of things, easily repaired, and the thing that shocked her most was how quickly such absences began to close. Even after a few weeks you could see how soon her parents would be forgotten, how their presence became an absence, and then - what? What did you call an absence that ceased to become an absence, what do you call a hole that has been filled in?
Dan Chaon, Await Your Reply
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