Sometimes it hits me again. Not quite new again but almost new...again.
Sometimes I remember I had a son named Steve, that he suffered, and he died.
Sometimes I’m caught up again in a swell of fresh grief and it crashes down on me and submerges me and carries me to some distant shore.
Sometimes I allow it, knowing it won’t keep me there forever and it won’t destroy me.
Sometimes Grief may think he is my master, but I know better,
and I am healing.
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