Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place.

Grieving doesn't make you imperfect. It makes you human.

That was the hard thing about grief, and the grieving. They spoke another language, and the words we knew always fell short of what we wanted them to say.

It was like Abe took some part of him when he went, you know? He’s never been the same.

It’s like everything just stopped.”“Well, for him it probably did. You know?

Life’s short, you know?”[...] But, suddenly, in that moment, it was like I could feel [Abe]. Sitting in the very seat where I was, riding along with us. Maybe he’s been there the whole time.

Nobody seemed to understand that the only person I could count on not to bring up my dad, not to feel sorry for me, or make The Face -other than my mother- was me.

But here in the present, my mother and I had no choice but to move ahead. We worked hard, me at school, her at outselling all the other builders. We parted our hair cleanly and stood up straight, greeting company — and the world — with the smiles we practiced in the quiet of our now-too-big dream house full of mirrors that showed the smiles back. But under it all, our grief remained. Sometimes she took more of it, sometimes I did. But always, it was there.

I sat quiet, silent, angry, refusing to grieve, because it seemed like to do so would be giving everyone what the wanted.