I had always understood that grief, the deep sorrow, only arrived after a death or loss. I was thinking too grand, and imagining it different from what it is. I had not yet heard of anticipatory grief, ambiguous grief, or stacked grief. I didn't know you could grieve more than the person.
My grief arrived like autumn sometimes does. My regular life enveloping me like sun-toasted September air, only to look more closely to see evidence of fall. My grief arrived like a fallen, red leaf on a still warm sidewalk - curious, ominous, foreshadowing. I knew, but I did not know, and I clung to my unknowing. Bob wasn't dead yet, I reasoned. The leaf fell too early.
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