I knew, from having watched my own mother grieve my grandmother’s death a year earlier, that grief did not have a timetable, did not move in a set pattern. That nothing, and everything—stopping for gas, eating a cheeseburger, sunlight glinting through the glass paperweight on his desk, the sight of a Highway Patrol car, which his father used to drive—could remind him of his father’s bigger-than-life person. That the death of a parent, in particular, had a way of unmooring a person so deeply you had to check to see that you still existed. ~ Jordan E. Rosenfeld, Author.
Posted on: Mon, 17 Nov 2014 05:59:42 +0000
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