"Grief demands an answer."  That's the quote I heard recently. 
It was true. 
It wants one.  It seeks one.  Grief longs to have the pit soothed with reasons.  It thinks that having an answer will justify the loss, make it easier to process, to release.  It longs for something that might pacify the pain - to stop the tide that seeks to drown.
It was true for sure, though answers do not hold the power to abate sorrow or loss.  They are unable.  No reasoning, no explanation, no justification can erase the magnitude of grief's silent smothering blanket.
I had been there before.  The know in your head can't win against the pain in your heart.  It just doesn't work that way.  

There is no other soother, no other analgesic, than time.  We do though hate that time lingers and leaves us in deep waters without a definitive exit plan.  Then one day, out of the blue, the weight of sorrow lessens by the sheer passage of time - the very thing that we have grown to hate. Though the loss is never replaced or given back, time catches up our heart to our head.

To those of us who think we have a high tolerance for pain, or a tenacity to bear up under things that others would buckle to, grief is the great equalizer.  We cannot escape its excruciation by will or by high tolerance. 
Grief and loss loosen their grip some with time.    That too was true.

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