Mourning

When one of my best friends died in her late twenties, it was different. I had been deeply upset when my grandparents died, but my mind had been able to process it somehow – it was their turn, a wounding rite of passage that was inescapable, natural. Death out of turn, against the rules, felt torturously unfair. Mourning my friend, helping to carry her coffin at the funeral, failing to manage the choking wretchedness of it. These defining moments of pain made everything different. Continue reading