“I think I do. I think you are allowed to be angry. Perhaps that is the consolation for such a loss—you can be angry forever if you want. No one can ask you to move on from that. It’s like asking…” She stumbles over her words, her drink sloshing in her hand. “Oh, I can hardly be coherent. But it’s like asking the skies to stop holding rain clouds because they’re too heavy. It can’t be done. It doesn’t matter how hard it is to carry; that grief cannot be let go.”
