On the Anatomy of Grief

Grief is not linear — it has no best-by date.

Grief is deceptive — yet brutally honest.

Grief brings the past, the present, and the future into blinding focus.

Grief can be loud — and deafeningly quiet.

Grief, in its purest form, is the crushing weight of absence.

Grief is delusional — it wants to fix what is unfixable.

Grief is covert — it hides in the corners of your heart and mind, then pounces when least expected.

Grief is surgical — it cuts you open, examines, re-examines, micro-analyzes, sews you shut, then opens you again.

Grief is especially painful when laden with guilt and regret.

Grief is unrelenting.

Grief is the name for what you’re feeling — because you dared to love.

Grief presents you with two choices: cowardice or courage — to never love again, or to love as intensely and passionately as possible.

Both are reasonable. Grief understands.