Today is just another day. I wake up in the morning. But something’s different. “Whoa, mom, you dyed you hair,” says my daughter. Yes, that I did. Black. To match my mood. “I don’t even recognize you,” she says. That’s fitting, I think. I don’t feel like myself today. I just lost my best friend. He died yesterday and my heart is broken. It feels like time should stop. I need a moment. No, I need more than a moment. There is not enough time in the world to make this right. But time doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even yield. I make breakfast, braid the girls’ hair, pile everyone in the van, and we’re off to summer camp. I drop the kids at camp, climb back in the van and head to work. I sit at my desk. My eyes are puffy. I look like hell. “Good morning!” says my assistant with more enthusiasm than I can tolerate right now. “Good morning,” I mumble. How am I supposed to work? How do I just sit here and smile and have a normal day? I can’t do it. I don’t know how to do it. My friend is gone and I can barely breathe. And bubbling just beneath the surface of this overwhelming sadness is an equally overwhelming fury. I am pissed at the Universe. This is not right. It will never be right again. Because he’s not coming back. How can today be just another day? How? My children need me. My employees need me. My clients need me. But I am somewhere else entirely. I am lost in a sea of thought and emotion that is threatening to swallow me. And in this moment, I almost wish it was that easy. Swallow me. Take my pain away. Make it stop. Make everything just stop. Please. But there is no mercy. I understand that grieving is a process and I have only just begun, but I refuse to believe that this process will end in acceptance like the textbooks say it should. I can’t forgive the Universe for this one. Not now. Not ever.