When the next opportunity to meet some bereaved relatives arose, I dreaded it but reminded myself that coping with their emotion was better than contemplating the cruel isolation of the uncared-for. Which didn’t entirely eliminate my dread. At the thought of these relatives I felt something like nausea and even considered saying I was too ill to attend. But I knew there was no escape. I would have to engage with the pain of their loss. Which, I now admitted to myself, meant recognizing the resonance of my own, long suppressed pain.
