“Someone told me, when she died, that the grief would be proportional to how much I’d loved her. Like a balance. They meant it as a good thing—like my pain was a sign of how much we’d loved each other—but it sort of haunted me. Any day where I actually got through work and did all the things I needed to do, got groceries, washed my hair, any day where I felt half normal, I’d feel terrible, like it meant I didn’t love her enough. But I also didn’t have a choice; I had to keep going, keep working.” That’s what happens: each day has newer, smaller disasters for you, and they rise up and claim
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