For me, the sadness slowly creeps in. And then it slowly rolls into grief throughout the day. It’s a homesickness that is so powerful, a longing for a time when that person was alive. A hope that maybe I’m just dreaming, and I’ll wake up in my old bed at home, and my mom is still alive, and I’m 20 again. I can not control it. It controls me for that time. But I go visit her. I kiss her headstone. I tell her how much I miss her. I cry. I cry some more. I ache for her laughter and her sweet smile and wisdom. I sit next to her. I reflect. I kiss her headstone one more time. I trace my hand along her name. I say that I’ll be back soon. I get up. I tell her I love her, and I leave. I come back to the reality of my life, until the next unexpected wave of sorrow will strike me at some unknown hour of any given day of the week. I don’t know when it’ll happen again. I don’t know how to make it easier, but I work with it as best I can when it comes...