At lunchtime today I read the first few chapters of a novel in which the main character is a mother whose little girl -- about Cady Gray's age -- has died in an accident. I couldn't stop myself from getting emotional at the descriptions of her difficulty getting through each day as everything in her life reminded her of her daughter. My overwhelming feeling was that I wouldn't be able to cope at all. I don't know how anyone does.
And then I wonder whether that means I adore my children too much. Not that I have any choice in the matter. But my inability to keep my emotions in check at any depiction of children in peril, or grieving parents, makes it difficult for me to keep perspective. I imagine all this is normal, yet isn't it also normal to integrate death into life?