Drown in a cold vat of whiskey? Death, where is thy sting? – W. C. Fields
I couldnt have foreseen all the good things that have followed my mothers death. The renewed energy, the surprising sweetness of grief. The tenderness I feel for strangers on walkers. The deeper love I have for my siblings and friends. The desire to play the mandolin. The gift of a visitation. – Mary Schmich

