Until now I had been able only to grieve, not mourn. Grief was passive. Grief happened. Mourning, the act of dealing with grief, required attention.

It occurs to me that we allow ourselves to imagine only such messages as we need to survive.

Why did I think that this improvisation could never end? If I had seen that it could, what would I have done differently? What would he?

...nor can we know ahead of the fact the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaningless itself.

I realized that for the time being I could not trust myself to present a coherent face to the world.

Only the survivors of a death are truly left alone. The connections that made up their life--both the deep connections and the apparently (until they are broken) insignificant connections--have all vanished.

we are imperfect mortal beings, aware of that mortality even as we push it away, failed by our very complication, so wired that when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves. as we were. as we are no longer. as we will one day not be at all.

This happened on December 30, 2003. That may seem a while ago but it won't when it happens to you.And it will happen to you. The details will be different, but it will happen to you.That's what I'm here to tell you.

Everyone was in scrubs. I noticed one man who was not in scrubs. “Is this the wife,” he said to the driver. Then he looked at me. “I'm your social worker.” And I guess that was when I knew.That's something else to remember. If they give you a social worker, you're in trouble.