A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radi… - Joan Didion

Because the reality of death has not yet penetrated awareness, survivors can appear to be quite accepting of the loss.

After that he would leave for a while, breaking things as he went, slamming doors to kick them open, picking up decanters to hurl at mirrors, detouring by way of chairs to smash them against the floor. Always when he came back he would sleep in their room, shutting the door against her. Rigid with self-pity she would lie in another room, wishing for the will to leave. Each believed the other a murderer of time, a destroyer of life itself.

I could tell you that I came back because I had promises to keep, but maybe it was because nobody asked me to stay.