"It's an old, old story: I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that, too.
"What am I supposed to do here?" I asked her aloud, by now accustomed to conversations with a dead best friend. "Am I just supposed to keep going?"
My life had made so much sense alongside hers: For years we had played the easy, daily game of catch that intimate connection implies. One ball, two gloves, equal joy in the throw and the return. Now I was in the field without her: one glove, no game.
Grief is what tells you who you are alone..."
