Grief is like quicksand. A person mourns, talks about their feelings and thinks they have worked through their grief. And then you are standing in line at the supermarket and out of the corner of your eye, you see a little boy who is just the age and size your son would be if he hadn't died, or someone catches you off guard and asks about the headstone that rests in your garden and it takes you right back to the rawness of it. That awful pain and envelope of fresh loss. It's like stepping in quicksand. At first you think you are fine, but you quickly realize that you are in trouble and nobody can help you get out. The only way out is by your own wit. There is nothing more lonely than being trapped in quicksand. Or in grief.