I once thought that the dead stayed dead, and the grieving stayed grieving. That my husband Alex would be in the ground forever, rotting down to his to bones. That I would mourn him until I joined him in the plot we picked out fifteen years ago when we were both healthy and death was just a joke. I thought that until this morning, at least. I thought that until Alex actually came back to me, for good.
I found him in our back yard. In the sinkhole he swore he’d fill before he died.