One of the most frightening parts of profound grief wasn’t the anguish or the isolation for me, it was the anger. I was afraid of it when it showed up. I squashed it with reason and hid it away with shame. How could I be angry? Oh, it was okay to be angry with the “situation” or the fact that I had to endure the death of my daughter. But that’s not what I was angry about. I was angry with her.
I remember standing in front of her headstone with my husband and asking him, “Do