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cemetery in the dark to leave their bouquet of white roses.

After lingering in silence, Giana had driven them to the park.

Sometimes they went for a walk after. Sometimes for

breakfast. Sometimes to the park. Sometimes they just went

back home.

They’d been visiting Heather’s grave for nearly a year. After

taking a grief class together, it was suggested that the visits

could be cathartic, not just sad. That changing the outlook on

going and making it an occasion of joy and peace could

change everything.

The still beauty of the morning was good for contemplation.

They’d both found a new sense of peace in their visits

together.

“You know, someone else died in that accident,” Giana

whispered, but thinly, as if she wasn’t even really aware she

was saying anything out loud. “I lost myself. My sister died,

and I came out barely half alive and I lived that way until I

met, rather forcefully, the love of my life.”

Coralyn was surprised. They’d been dating for a year, but

Giana rarely voiced things like that. She’d told her that she

loved her six months ago, and Coralyn had caved long before

that, but she wasn’t one to do cheesy sayings. Love of my life

certainly didn’t seem to be in her vocabulary.

Then again, things had changed. A lot of things. Through

the grief classes, they’d both learned to move forward. They’d

met new friends, people going through the same kinds of

losses as they were. They’d both learned that a thick skin only

got you so far, and usually that wasn’t far at all. They’d

learned how to cry together, because that was as important as

loving and laughing together.