Grief is an asshole. It doesn't knock politely or wait for an invitation. It barges in uninvited, rearranges your furniture, and settles down like it owns the place. It shows up at random moments – while you're standing in line at the grocery store, driving to work, or just when you think you might be okay for once. It steals your appetite, your sleep, your concentration, leaving nothing but a hollowed-out version of who you used to be. And just when you think you've finally shown it the door, you find it hiding in the corner of a photograph, the chorus of a song, or the scent of a familiar perfume.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​