a free range heart
or whatever it is that wants out
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