Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it.
Nor can we know ahead of the fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief was we imagine it and grief as it is) the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself.
― Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking
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