“My serenity was like a permanent condition. I became more and more removed from that awful journey to London, and in the moments when I thought of it I didn’t think grief could come near me again.

It was a poor way of thinking. We are never finished with grief. It is part of the fabric of living. It is always waiting to happen. Love makes memories and life precious; the grief that comes to us is proportionate to that love and is inescapable”.

The Strangeness of Grief, New Yorker 6 gennaio 2020