We ride grief in waves; we do not conquer it. It is wide and wild and ebbing, coming back to drench you when you think you have wiped your face dry of tears. If you know someone who is riding grief and you ask, “How are you?” They may just be answering for that day. Because tomorrow might just be all wet and the day after that, the sun again rises. Just stand in the water with them and wade. That is how we live.