After Annie

by Anna Quindlen

Grief was like spring, maybe. You thought you were getting out from under it and then it came roaring back. And getting out from under it felt like forgetting, and forgetting felt like treason.

“One need never be ashamed or afraid of grieving. Those who do not grieve cannot feel.” “My mother said you had an amazing life,” Ali said. “Yes,” the woman said, and her fingers moved in patterns again across the afghan in her lap. “She has newspaper clippings,” said the woman with the walker, “and a map with stars for all the places she went on tour. She went to Russia and China!” “Many times,” Miss Evelyn said. “Hard to believe for someone of your age, isn’t it? I will show you if you come to visit. All of us here, we were all someone else once.”