Grief is like falling in love; it is always narcissistic. Some catastrophe cuts through your life and immediately you reshape the world to make this disaster the secret heartbeat of all things, the buried truth of the universe. Everything is enchanted with her now. The sun, the breeze. When I sit in the mucky mess of the garden, swiping between newspapers on my phone, Kala is in the birds in the hedge. The distant sound of children, laughing and screaming.
