Every widow wakes one morning, perhaps after years of pure and unwavering grieving, to realize she slept a good night’s sleep, and will be able to eat breakfast, and doesn’t hear her husband’s ghost all the time, but only some of the time. Her grief is replaced with a useful sadness. Every parent who loses a child finds a way to laugh again. The timbre begins to fade. The edge dulls. The hurt lessens. Every love is carved from loss. Mine was. Yours is. Your great-great-great-grandchildren’s will be. But we learn to live in that love.
- I may have been dead for the past hundred and fifty years, Susannah,…but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how people say good night. And generally, when people say good night, they keep their tongues to themselves.
- Yeah and it’s over before you know it It all goes by so fast Yeah the bad nights take forever And the good nights don’t ever seem to last