Grief is such an odd thing. One moment I’m focused on finishing a project before tomorrow, the next I’m tearing up over the death of a friend who passed away a dozen years ago. She was the first of our own, our circle of university friends. In a conversation over a year ago with another friend who was grieving his own loss I mentioned how to me we’re all pieces of Kintsugi, cracked pottery whose shards have been repaired with gold, the gold representing the people we lost. Every now and then such a golden repair stands out again. I know they always will.

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