No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me. C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

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Tick Tock

We drive long, winding country lanes, empty of other cars, through rolling green hills, over model railroad bridges, trees stretching to the early evening sky. Our destination: an old 19th century hunting lodge deep in the countryside. A group of men stand outside smoking, surrounded by midges in the cool June air, looking out over the vast landscape….

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