My mother passed away five weeks ago after a long illness. Watching her keen mind diminish from dementia, I almost wanted it to end. Or so I thought. There is no dress rehearsal for grief. No trainer to pump up the misery muscle. No way to outsource heartache. Grief is something that I carry around with me. Like a credit card with my name etched deeply into .its flanks.

Living in the grocery ice cream aisle. And in Bloomingdales.