Most of the time, the travel mug was a quiet companion. But sometimes, after she filled it with hot tea or fizzy water, it would begin to chirp like an injured bird or a lonely insect.

On her way back to Syracuse last Sunday, she had caught a cold. Some opportunistic virus in the recirculating air of the airplane cabin had found her. Since she had not been eating or sleeping well for the past week and had undergone a lot of stress, she proved an excellent host and breeding ground for the virus. Her immune system was shot, so the virus went about its business of hooking into cells and using them as a mini-factory to replicate itself a million times. She was soon quite ill with a sore throat, cough, and congestion. Her body felt like it had been pummeled inside and out. She felt miserable. It was one of the worst colds she had ever had. Each day she hoped to feel better, but the illness hung in with no signs of change.

On Thursday night she spoke with her Mom. Her Mom asked her how she was and she answered, "It's hard to tell with this cold. I think I'd be fine if I could just get well." It was then that she understood that she could not distinguish between how bad she was feeling because of a virus and how bad she was feeling because of the death of her Father. She could not discern whether her lack of appetite, inability to sleep, tightness in the chest, lethargy, weakness, headache, dry mouth, and so on was caused by the illness or grief. However, at some point her mind had decided that if she were to get over the illness she would be completely back to normal. This was a type of denial, an avoidance of the truth, she realized. Even when the illness was gone, she might still feel horrible. In fact, the symptoms caused by grief could be the exact reason why this was the worst cold she ever had and why it seemed there were no signs she was getting better.

During the week, she had taken to carrying around a red plastic travel mug. She was continuously thirsty, so it made sense that she would have the mug with her at all times. But this mug held special significance and it was because of this that she made certain it was never out of reach. It was this travel mug that she had filled with coffee for her Dad on the morning her parents returned to Missouri after visiting her for a week last summer. She had given him the mug that morning--even though her Dad had said it wasn't necessary--as a way of showing her love for him, her desire to take care of him, in the same way he had done by working on her house during the visit. He had returned the mug to her during her Christmas visit. Now she carried it with her everywhere as a tangible reminder of their connection.

Since her father had died, people--even those she barely knew--had begun to tell her stories of when their fathers had died. Many of them shared memories of fathers who had died too young, by cancers, car accidents, or sudden heart attacks.

One woman's story particularly touched her. When this woman was a young girl, her father had died in a plane crash. The woman had turned twelve the week before and her last real memories of him were from her birthday dinner where they had dined at the best restaurant in their small town. The restaurant had a ballroom and the two of them had danced to music performed by a local band. Soon after her father’s death, her mother sent her and her two younger siblings to a friend's house to stay while she took care of practical matters. When the girl finally returned home, she found that her mother had cleaned out all the closets in the house and many of her own things--old clothes, shoes, and toys--were gone. She was immediately struck with the fear that her mother was preparing to send her away now that her father was dead.

"Of course, I had it all wrong. My Mom was just trying to get things in order," the woman laughed, "Now, I'm struck by the funny things that went through my head."

But, the reflection of that young girl--so affected by her father's death that she believed her mother might also abandon her--could still be seen in the woman all these years later as she sat shaking her head at the memory.

Her father's heart stopped on June 17th, Father's Day. Her mother called 911 and did CPR until the ambulance came, but he never regained consciousness and by the next morning he was gone.

She had tried to get out of Syracuse as soon as she heard the news on Sunday night, but all the planes had left so she had to wait until the next morning. She knew her Dad wouldn't have known she was there anyway, but she wanted to be with her Mom and brother. It was the first time she had ever felt that she needed to live closer to her family home.

The week was painful, even with the numbness and shock that comes with an unexpected death. She had a hard time believing her Dad was gone. She had just spoken with him on Friday night and her parents had been planning a trip to Syracuse for the first week of July. She and her Dad had planned on saving the detached garage that sat rotting behind the house she had bought last August.

Her feelings of loss were magnified in her Mother, who had lost a life partner. She hated the thought of her Mom going through the brutal process of grief. She knew the next year would be hell for her and that it would take several years for her Mom's life to begin to feel normal again. Even then there would be a hole where Dad had been.

Her Dad, who had always had plans and energy and a love for life, lay gray-faced in the oak coffin chosen for him. He had a strange, closed-lip smile on his face. She kissed him on the forehead and then felt ridiculous for touching her lips to a corpse. It was too late to say good-bye.

On the day of the funeral, she wore the dress her Mother had worn to her Grandpa's funeral two years before. He had also died near Father's Day. It seemed to her that in her family, the Hallmark holiday to remember Dad's had become the day to bury them.

She found a site where artist Francis Alÿs is sharing his diary about not going to the Venice Biennale.

Todd came to visit for a week. He was her oldest friend. They had met fifteen years ago in a painting class at a university in Missouri.

Their relationship had always been bound by a passion for art and their mutual urges to create. It had been both supportive and competitive, especially in their youth--a relationship that held both the deepest kind of affection and the occasional slow burning jealousy, though the latter had never overcome the former. They loved one another and he had seen her through some of the most difficult times of her life. It could even be said that he had helped form who she was, by insisting that they go to the East Coast shortly after Kelly's death; by encouraging her during the graduate school application process at a time when she lacked both self confidence and direction; by being her best and oldest companion.

The week's visit went by quickly. They tried to tell each other everything--about their work and about their lives and how they saw themselves growing. The act was almost repetitive for her. She did not have to be told how things were going for Todd. She could see it in him. He had changed. Not so that you couldn't see the younger Todd of fifteen years ago, but in a way that complemented and even showed-off the best parts of himself. It was the accumulation of many small changes that she had noticed over the years that had now come to fruition. He knew himself and he was peaceful and happy with who he had become.

She loved him the more and it was painful. Her feelings for him had been deep and committed for many years. For her to find that she could care more about someone she had already been so fond of was frightening. She hurt from the thought of not seeing him for another year and hearing from him only occasionally. The visit left her unsettled and unsatisfied. And although she felt they could now talk truthfully to one another with more feelings of safety and trust then ever before, she could not bring herself to tell him this. He had done some hard work to get where he was; perhaps she herself was not up to the same task.

Towards the end of the trip she had told him that after Kelly had died she had not allowed her emotions to get tied up so deeply in someone that they could hurt her. But she now recognized this as bravado, because it was obvious to her, as she held back her tears, that he could hurt her to her very core.