Families handled grief in all kinds of ways, but fragile irritability was often the first stop. That is, after numb shock.
She noticed the sticky note on the mirror, as she always did, and though the words were not from her religion, it was still comforting to know the woman who had opened her home to her was god-fearing.
She ducked her head down. He did not need her crying, he needed her hope, her can-do, he needed the mamá who had cheered at all his home games, who had thrown him a giant party when he graduated, who made over every new job.
She would just lie here today, she thought. Who cares? Not the one who counted. He was lying brain-dead in the hospital across town.
Child of sorrow, child of rain, There is no tomorrow, no more pain. Turn your silvered sail toward the light. Child of morning, child of night. Child of Wonder - Eric Whitacre