My dear friend, T, has lost her mother recently. She's writing a lot now that she has her journal, and her poetry (she is a writer at heart) reflects much of her relationship and love for her adored mother.

It's very hard for me to read.

I look forward to the entries of her journal and to read her latest poetry, but then I have to remember that her poetry right now is not about Tristan or Romans or travelling.

Her poetry is about her love and her loss.

It's amazingly real, open, and vulnerable. It's hard to stare into something like that and not be drawn in, to share the grief and wish it wasn't happening for your friend and her family. But it's true and it's real. It's how things Are. And so I back away from the empathetic sadness, remembering it's not a punishment for them, it is How Things Are. It happens every day, to every person.

And that one day, it will happen to me and my sisters too.

But it still is horrible and profoundly sad.