Every widow wakes one morning perhaps after years of pure and unwavering grieving to realize she slept a good nights sleep and will be able to eat breakfast and doesnt hear her husbands ghost all the time but only some of the time. Her grief is replaced with a useful sadness. Every parent who loses a child finds a way to laugh again. The timbre begins to fade. The edge dulls. The hurt lessens. Every love is carved from loss. Mine was. Yours is. Your great-great-great-grandchildrens will be. But we learn to live in that love.