A hard thing with grief is that is makes a person more sensitive (if it's even possible to be more sensitive in my case). Steve and I met Dad for dinner tonight. The place was packed, the service was minimal, and the kitchen was slow. By the time our food arrived over 45 minutes later, I almost lost my appetite. It seems like the smallest personal indignities that would be a mere annoyance before are now magnified 100-fold. I wish my mother was here so I could cry on her shoulder. Instead, I am crying on yours.