Is this truth too potent for me to hold? If I keep it close, will I tumble? At times, I don't know.

They had become muffled and distant then anyway. This happened in those first days after the wave. I couldn't find their faces, they quivered as in a heat haze. Even in my stupor I knew that details of them were dropping away from me crumbs. Still, whenever they emerged, I panicked.

I must stop remembering. I must keep them in a faraway place. The more I remember, the greater my agony. These thoughts stuttered in my mind. So I stopped talking about them, I wouldn't mouth my boys' names, I shoved away stories of them. Let them, let our life, become as unreal as that wave.

I was terrified that tomorrow the truth would start.

My boys. I don't have them to hold. What do I do with my arms?