I browsed or breezed or picked my way through Lisa Keefauver’s breezy and very useful book on the art and science of mourning.
Grief is a Sneaky Bitch is a title with an element of shock even for those like me who never hesitate to curse.
Incidentally, if I weren’t inclined to language most foul, Burt would have innoculated me. He loved to say fuck, though, to his credit, he seldom said bitch or ever used infamous c word.
Anyway, grief, to the grieving, well to the grieving me, is sacred. We don’t curse at grief.
Why is grief an art? Simply, because we each grieve in our own way and in our own time.
Science? Ms Keefauver reminded me that the body holds grief so aches and pains might come from the body in physical grief.
Talking about Burt keeps my memories of him active. It helps me process my sorrow over losing him. That’s my art. That’s my science.
this is our life 