Is there life after death?

Usually people ask that question theologically. But I’m asking it rhetorically, or relationally. And the answer is, of course, yes. Today I started doing what I would normally do on Sunday. I went to church and played the piano, and only cried a couple of times. I did some grocery shopping and made it all the way through the checkout line. Was it really only a week ago that I was falling to pieces there? Feels like a lifetime ago, almost like it happened to someone else.  I came home and did laundry and then began working on clients’ websites. Having put everything on hold for the last ten days, I had a pile of stuff needing attention. But it was so hard to concentrate on what I needed to do. Usually I put on some music while I work, but right now music hits too many raw nerves, still triggers too many memories and emotions. So I work in slience. I’m even sensitive to noise around me, the kids in and out the front door, the sound of the wind chimes on the front porch, the clicking of the clothes dryer. It all feels too loud or intrusive somehow. Work takes me twice as long because my mind wanders. But I do find myself hugging the kids more, holding them longer, looking at them more closely. I am memorizing their faces and voices and savoring their affection.