The Legend Next Door (Totally Pucked, #2)

by Jesse H. Reign

There’s nothing linear about grief. No pattern. No rhyme. Only an involuntary beginning without an ending.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and the ever-elusive acceptance. They sound like stages, but they aren’t. There’s nothing neat or tidy about them. You don’t get to be done with one and move on to the next. No. You get to flick back and forth. Sometimes, you’re stuck in one stage for weeks. Other times, you get to experience all of them in a single day. A single hour. So, no, there are no stages of grief. Only a shitstorm of it. The shitstorm of grief. It doesn’t have the same ring to it, but it’s a lot more accurate, I guarantee that.