. . . even twins are not here to go on each other's journeys. - David Kessler

I could blame everyone else for not feeling the pain I felt, or I could feel my own grief without any expectations about how anyone else should feel. I could have gratitude for whatever kindness people extended to me, while recognizing that they could not be expected to share my feelings. This was my tragedy, not theirs. I thought of the Auden poem "Musée des Beaux Arts," about suffering "while someone else is eating or opening a window."

Living is different from being alive. We come out of loss alive, but we're not living yet.

I don't want to have to tell them that my life lost all its meaning when they died. They loved me, and they wouldn't want that.