And as she grieved, she realized that she had never trusted the world to keep herself or those she loved safe. From the moment of her mother’s death, she had known that terror could be around the next corner at any moment. Had there ever been a time when she felt the clutch of fear in her gut loosen its grip, so that she could have faith in the future?

There is no path set for this kind of shock, and for the grief that attends such terrible news.

Grief from the war casts a shadow that at times was dense and at others seemed as pale as a length of gauze, but it was never gone.

She understood loss, understood how it could leach into every fiber of one's being; how it could dull the shine on a sunny day, and how it could replace happiness with doubt, giving rise to a lingering fear that good fortune might be snatched back at any time.

She had learned, long ago and in the intervening years when she was apart from all she loved, that to endure the most troubling times she had to break down time itself--one carefully crafted stitch after the other. If consideration of what the next hour might hold had been too difficult, then she thought only of another half and hour.