For days, it felt like I had been punched in the stomach. It was like I couldn’t breathe, like something had been ripped from my abdomen. The feeling was so distinctive; it was different from any other kind of sadness I had known before or since. Watching Angie cry reminds me of that feeling. It’s like smelling the pungent flavor of a sickening food I had once eaten. I never want to feel like that again.
