Cookie baking

After I spend a few hours last night thinking about the concept of suicide and how it affects people’s lives, Ed comes to me in my dreams. Well, wasn’t that great timing. Go ahead and come when the topic is related to you.

So as usual, I’m home at our cold, miserable house in San Francisco, and I’m standing in front of the bathroom about to get in. Ed seems down and has a sad face. I ask him what’s wrong, and he says he doesn’t know what to do. “I don’t know, Yvonne… I just don’t know what to do.” It’s like what he said to me and how he said to me in the days leading up to his death. I’m at loss for words, but suddenly I smile at him and say, “Want to make cookies? Let’s make cookies together!” I expect him to decline, but instead, his eyes actually light up, and he says, okay! Let’s do it. So we go into the kitchen and start getting all of the ingredients and utensils ready.

I guess you’re at peace, Ed. You finally want to bake with me, and you never liked baking when you were alive. You had all those opportunities to do it with me, and you never wanted to. And now you do.

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