When you lose a child, you grieve once because you have lost her, when you are barren, you grieve every day because of the child you could have had

Grief, we know where we've been. We know where we want to be.

On grief. We know where we've been. We know where we want to be.

It’s okay to cry. Giving in to the tears is terrifying,
like freefalling to earth without a parachute. But it’s vital to our wellbeing as we process the deep anguish.

Grieving is an expression of gratitude, and that expression doesn't have to be rushed.

She did not belong to the healthy group of widows and widowers who, after mourning, would nurture the seed of their grief into growing from loss—perhaps continuing the dreams of the lost, or learning to cherish alone the things they’d cherished together.

She belonged instead to the sad lot who clung to grief, who nurtured it by never moving beyond it. They’d shelter it deep inside where the years padded it in saudade layers like some malignant pearl.