Grief is the older woman who
lost her husband twenty years ago. It’s the man who lost himself working eighty-hour
weeks after his daughter died. It’s the young mother who lost a stillborn
child. It’s the boy who grew up with one parent. It’s the death of a beloved
pet.
Grief is the tree when its
leaves turn yellow and fall off. It’s the river that no longer flows free
because it’s been dammed for irrigation.
* If you would like to read the rest of this post, let me know and I’ll send it to you. *
* If you would like to read the rest of this post, let me know and I’ll send it to you. *
When we’re grieving, food
doesn’t taste like much. My essay at the Citron Review.
