It’s been almost two years since my marriage ended. Possibly longer since I wrote anything of value. Or wrote at all. I’m caught in a strange grieving process that doesn’t seem to have an end. The grief comes and goes. Some days are good days: I find myself busy and productive and life feels light. I feel healed, almost. Then the grief hits me out of nowhere. A smell, a place, a memory evoked and I’m back on the couch, split into pieces.