Life does not seem to present itself to me for my convenience, to box itself up nicely so I can write about it with wisdom and a point to make before putting it on a shelf somewhere.

Love falls to earth, rises from the ground, pools around the afflicted. Love pulls people back to their feet. Bodies and souls are fed. Bones and lives heal. New blades of grass grow from charred soil. The sun rises.

Some people may have thought that this book was too personal, too confessional. But what these people think about me is none of my business.

All those years I fell for the great palace lie that grief should be gotten over as quickly as possible and as privately. But, what I've discovered is that the lifelong fear of grief keeps us in a barren, isolated place, and that only grieving can heal grief. The passage of time will lessen the acuteness, but time alone, without the direct experience of grief, will not heal it.

You get your intuition back when you make space for it, when you stop the chattering of the rational mind.

...since you can't heal your own sick mind with your own sick mind, I needed to consult somebody else's sick mind.

Toddlers can make you feel as if you have violated some archaic law in their personal Koran and you should die, infidel.