Love and Grief at the Edge of the Marsh
“When your husband is dying and your child is on the cusp of forming actual memories, nothing in the world makes sense.”
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I’m stockpiling sweaters because they signify refuge, collecting them like talismans though grief cannot be avoided.
My heart’s deepest desire was to see my mother again, yes, but also to glimpse a portrait of normalcy that I had never known in the years of her illness.
Maybe, over time, the ephemera of Jack’s life will become less explosive, like a landmine whose triggering mechanism has eroded, rendering it harmless.