She didn’t know if all the people who somehow managed to perform good grief, people like her mother, were still shredded on the inside. She didn’t know if they were still consumed with emptiness and longing for the way things used to be, or if they had all somehow filled in the hole left in their heart with friends and partners and community activism and social clubs. Maybe everyone is miserable all the time, and you’re just the only one who’s shit at hiding it.
