In my adult life, I had spent a lot of time angry at God, mostly over the sudden deaths in my family - my brother at 30, my daughter at 5.

No mother should lose her child.

Even now, there are still days so beautiful, I almost believe in God.

Time doesn't heal, I had learned, it just keeps moving. And it takes us with it.

No one can write like Cheryl Strayed.

I have learned that there is more power in a good strong hug than in a thousand meaningful words.

The only language she could speak was grief. How could he not know that? Instead, she said, "I love you." She did. She loved him. But even that didn't feel like anything anymore.