Grief that arrives sideways

Grief is badly behaved. It skips the days you brace for and arrives in the cereal aisle, in a song fragment, in the shape of someone's shoulders three people ahead in a queue.

People often read this as going backwards. It isn't. Sideways grief is memory doing its work — the mind keeping a person present in the places they belonged.

When it lands, try not to argue with the timing. Step somewhere quieter if you can, put a hand somewhere solid, and let the wave take the sixty to ninety seconds it usually needs.

Afterwards, be practical and kind: water, air, a message to someone who knew them. Grief is physical, and the body takes the brunt of it.

There is no schedule you are failing to meet. There is only the slow, uneven work of carrying someone with you.