Don’t place your limits on this grief of mine or try to cheer me out of feeling sorrow. I need to wear it for a longer time and won’t be ready to let go tomorrow. The ragged tears that burn and sting my eyes, the knot that’s tied inside my throat and chest are raiment needed for my long good-bye and bind me to the soul that’s laid to rest. And so I wear a shroud of blackest black and wrap myself in aching disbelief, knowing when I last discard my cloak our closeness severs. I’ll be sadly free. So long as I can bear to wear my grief, it’s part of me—the life that was so brief. Sally Sandler is a writer and graduate of the University of Michigan. She lives in San Diego, California.