There are times I wonder what awaits me in the future.. Whenever it starts to scare me, I remind myself that death is really the beginning of something new.
How someone bereaved feels and how they choose to, or very often just do, act is valid, even if, to an outsider, they seem to have lost control.
As one’s well-worn shoes can prompt visceral depths of loss, the same is evoked by Hemingway’s tragic story using shoes to depict a life never lived.
No one cares about what you achieved, owned, or for that matter, lost. The only humiliation is in your mind. You are most beautiful when you are vulnerable.
How could they? How selfish? How ignorant for anyone to think they have the right to judge such tragedy and loss? How dare you?