Breakwater

Abstract

At some point as I was delivering my mother’s eulogy, I was overcome with a strange feeling of remoteness. That’s the only word I can use to describe what I felt: remote. As if I was watching myself from afar. I scanned the small crowd of faces, expecting to find my own. I held my notes, handwritten on a legal pad, but I went off script, distracted by the sense that I was pulling away from myself. I recall only half of what I said.