No One Can Write Like Cheryl Strayed.

A Sibling Is The Lens Through Which You See Your Childhood.

I Learned To Knit In 2002, Six Months After My 5-year-old Daughter, Grace, Died Suddenly From A Virulent Form Of Strep. I Was Unable To Read Or Write, And Friends Suggested I Take Up Knitting; Almost Immediately I Fell Under Its Spell.

Time Passes And I Am Still Not Through It. Grief Isn't Something You Get Over. You Live With It. You Go On On With It Lodged In You. Sometimes I Feel Like I Have Swallowed A Pile Of Stones. Grief Makes Me Heavy. It Makes Me Slow. Even On Days When I Laugh A Lot, Or Dance, Or Finish A Project, Or Meet A Deadline, Or Celebrate, Or Make Love, It Is There. Lodged Deep Inside Of Me.

No Mother Should Lose Her Child.

Grief Doesn't Have A Plot. It Isn't Smooth. There Is No Beginning And Middle And End.