"There's a grief that can't be spoken."
Since I, regrettably, can't attend a very special event tomorrow, here's a special message from me to my family, and anyone who wants to read. I'm used to death. My father died when I was 11, my grandmother died when I was 13, two of my uncles died when I was young, and I never even got to meet my grandfather. I'm used to bittersweet stories and sad longing and overwhelming grief. I'm used to funerals and going to the cemetery for Father's Day and tragic smiles over what coul d have been. My uncle died when I was 15, just a week ago. It was an accident and unexpected and because of that, all the more devastating. In Les Misearables, Marius sings, "There's a grief that can't be spoken." And I can see that all around. There's the grief of his wife, his children, his siblings, his mother, his father, his friends, his family. There's the grief of his boss, of his neighbors, of his former classmates, of the people who used to buy