Lou picked Michelle up from work on his way back into the city. It was Friday and they were going to try a few a of the neighborhood bars. When they arrived at the condo, they headed straight to the bedroom to change out of their work clothes. Lou could have worn hole-filled sweatpants to the shop; no one would have cared—it’s not like he met with clients on a regular basis. Most days he was the only one in the office with a handful of union workers out in the shop doing whatever union workers get paid to do when not on a job site. But wearing a nice pair of slacks and a tie made him feel a little more professional. His mother taught him long ago that what a person wears directly affects one’s attitude. It helped motivate him to look for other jobs if he was wearing a tie. It also made him feel like less of a degenerate drunk when he would have two scotches for lunch.

Back in Chicago, people offered Lou their sympathies. The typical, “I’m sorry,” and “Let me know if you need anything.” He heard a lot of “Are you okay?” Most of those people never knew Chuck, but when you hear that someone dies, the polite thing to do is express condolences and make empty offerings of assistance. Not that you shouldn’t be graciously appreciative of their efforts.

Sadness doesn’t come immediately after the sudden death of a loved one. Shock comes first. You feel nothing. Your mind and body switch to autopilot. If you’re one of the first to hear the news, you get busy making phone calls to other loved ones of the departed. You involuntarily go through all of the other motions that come with surviving someone. You try to maintain the status quo. You eat breakfast. You feed your kid. If you’re Lou, you go couch shopping.