Today I will get up and go into the office early. I will walk into my manager's office, and I will close her door, and I will, in careful, halting words begin a sentence that starts "Anna's husband called me early Saturday morning."
I have the information, noted on a sheet of paper, sitting on my kitchen table. I have answers to the how and the what questions, and I have time lines around the when. I can tell them what happened in bare sorts of terms. I have, in the back of my head, friends to call to get more medical information, to begin to unpack what the Medical Examiner tells us tomorrow.
And I have my list of people to contact: friends in other departments, someone in another city to pack up her work things, some one from HR to begin the process, because there will be forms.
Alan and I have discussed, in gentle, in timid, in awkward steps this morning, flowers and a trust account. I assured him that we are bankers, and we will take care of our own. Do not worry. Put the papers in a box, I will come in 6 weeks, and we will sort through them.
I will walk to the branch tomorrow, and I will see the assistant manager, an old colleague of mine, of ours, and I will tell him the news, and we will begin the process of winding up financial affairs.
I have been unquiet all weekend, since early Saturday morning. It has been a struggle to focus, to not ping pong from task to task. I have been making notes in my head, pacing around my house will making another call. This weekend seems as if it encompasses all the time there is in the world, as if it has not stopped. I have closed my eyes, laid my head down, and I wake up thinking of Anna. Emma. Allan. My lists.
And I will answer questions, and provide these answers and tick things off my list, and it will seem that when I start all of this off today, that conversation that begins "On Saturday", and it will not seem like it is Monday today, I swear to you, I have been living in Saturday for a long time now.