Grief is a canyon with no bottom. At first you are just falling away eternally, deeper and faster and into thicker darkness every moment until the light is almost gone.
Then at some point you find that you are only dangling over the edge, hanging on by your fingernails, dangerously close to falling, but still somehow attached to solid ground. For now. For as long as you can keep your hands clenched, clawed desperately into the crumbling edge of routine, habit, daily existence. All your energy is focused on just not letting go.
And then maybe, hopefully, eventually you are able to get an elbow up and maybe a knee over the ledge. You might lie, gasping for a while on solid ground. You might be able to crawl away, and then sit on a bench a little distance from the cliff and observe the canyon and remember and marvel at its awful, beautiful depth.
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