The people we most love do become a physical part of us, ingrained in our synapses, in the pathways where memories are created.

Much of Hamlet is about the precise kind of slippage the mourner experiences: the difference between being and seeming, the uncertainty about how the inner translates into the outer, the sense that one is expected to perform grief palatably. (If you don’t seem sad, people worry; but if you are grief-stricken, people flinch away from your pain.)

Grief is characterized much more by waves of feeling that lessen and reoccur, it's less like stages and more like different states of feeling.

One of the things about grief is that it can bring a deeper perspective into your life; in the end, it has, for me, though it's also brought sorrow.

It's all too easy when talking about female gymnasts to fall into the trap of infantilizing them, spending more time worrying more about female vulnerability than we do celebrating female strength.

'Hamlet' is a play about a man whose grief is deemed unseemly.

Nothing prepared me for the loss of my mother. Even knowing that she would die did not prepare me.