A Mother Is The Portal By Which

Yet The Story Of Orpheus, It Occurs To Me, Is Not Just About The Desire Of The Living To Resuscitate The Dead But About The Ways In Which The Dead Drag Us Along Into Their Shadowy Realm Because We Cannot Let Them Go. So We Follow Them Into The Underworld, Descending, Descending, Until One Day We Turn And Make Our Way Back.

Our Minds Are Mysterious; Our Conscious Brain Is Like A Ship On A Sea That Is Obscure To Us.

Loss Doesn't Feel Redeemable. But For Me One Consoling Aspect Is The Recognition That, In This At Least, None Of Us Is Different From Anyone Else: We All Lose Loved Ones; We All Face Our Own Death.

One Of The Ideas I've Clung To Most Of My Life Is That If I Just Try Hard Enough It Will Work Out.

I Think That Grief Is A Profound Spiritual, Metaphysical, And - Oddly - Physical Reckoning With Death, Which We Don't Understand Well. It's Both The Process By Which You Relearn The World In The Absence Of Someone Who Was A Pillar In It, And The Process In Which You Confront The Reality Of Death.