The next morning, Josh woke up at 5 am and stared at the clock. He didn't know why he'd woken so early. This happened to him every morning. He had that one moment of blissful forgetfulness before reality smacked him in the face so hard that he had to bury his face in his pillow before finally getting out of bed.
When he pulled himself out of bed that morning, he stumbled into the bathroom and stared at his reflection. He didn't know when he'd started to look so pale and, well, old. He'd always thought he looked sort of… boyish… but that was gone now. He just looked old. And sad. He knew he looked very, very sad. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. That was something he wasn't sure would ever change.
Once he was out of the shower and dressed, he sat down in his living room and turned on CNN. It was too early to call Donna's parents. They were in D.C. They'd arrived the previous night, and he'd spoken to them when they'd gotten in. They had all agreed to get together in the coffee shop of their hotel at 8 the next morning, so he had two hours worth of news to watch. He held onto the remote control, though, so he could change the channel the minute anyone mentioned the Middle East. He didn't know when he'd be ready to hear about any of it again.
By the time he could leave and arrive at the hotel at a reasonable time, he'd had to change the channel six times. He was so relieved to be able to turn off the television and leave his apartment that he arrived earlier than he'd anticipated and sat in the lobby to wait for the Mosses. He'd only met them once before when they'd come to visit Donna years earlier, so he was just hoping he'd remember them. He needn't have worried. His breath caught in his throat when an older couple got off the elevator at 8:00 because he took one look at this woman and just knew that this was what Donna would have looked like… if she'd ever been given the opportunity to reach this age. He swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. He couldn't do this now… not with people who were suffering a pain that he could hardly imagine.
He stood and walked up to them slowly. They watched his approach with small, sad smiles, and Mr. Moss reached out first to shake Josh's hand.
"Josh, thanks so much for meeting us. We really don't know much about doing all of this in D.C., but we knew that this was what she would have wanted. This was the place she loved best."
Josh just nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and turned then to Mrs. Moss. She reached out to hug him, and he hugged her carefully, trying to maintain as much distance as possible. After Sam's hug had destroyed his defenses yesterday, he was cautious about human contact and most especially with people who understood his pain. Nothing could release it more freely. When they pulled away from each other, though, he could see that her eyes were watering, and to his horror, he knew that his were as well. She saw his misery, though, and reached for his hand and squeezed it.
"We'll be ok, Josh," she said softly. "Donna wouldn't want it any other way. You know that."
He nodded again. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "You're right, Mrs. Moss," he said, releasing her hand reluctantly. "Shall we go into eat something and start working on this?"
Donna's parents nodded, and the three of them found a table, ordered coffee, and then spent a half hour working out the funeral arrangements. Everything sounded fine to Josh except for one thing they asked of him that he knew would be absolutely impossible. They wanted him to give the eulogy. He couldn't say no… but how on earth was he ever going to make it through something like that in one piece?
It was bad enough that it was his fault that Donna died. After all… this happened to everyone he cared about eventually. But he was still coming to terms with just how much he did care about her… and how none of that would ever matter again. When he got back home, he climbed back into bed … at 10:00 in the morning. He hadn't done this since college, but the last thing he felt like doing was writing this eulogy. He didn't know when he'd ever be ready, and he only had two days. The only thing he could face right now was his pillow again. He didn't wake up until he heard pounding on his door three hours later.