They tell you that grief is a process, a series of stages that eventually lead to closure. They are wrong. Grief is not a process; it is a permanent resident in the marrow of your bones, a quiet, suffocating weight you carry without complaint. I buried my eleven-year-old daughter, Grace, two years ago. I remember the hospital lights, the cold smell of antiseptic, and the absolute, shattering silence that followed the doctor’s final words. I was standing there, paralyzed, when… Continue reading…
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