This page should be blank. She has died and she has been buried. I was there for both. Yet, it is impossible that my sister is not in the world.

Why should this be so hard to take?

Sometimes the loss is a shock, a jolt of adrenaline. Sometimes it is what it is now: a suffusion of gray bleakness seeping from my pores, my bones. It is neither regret nor worry. It is bone deep sorrow/grief. Bone deep.