Grief

Grief in childhood is complicated with many other miseries. I was taken into the bedroom where my mother lay dead; as they said, “to see her,” in reality, as I at once knew, “to see it.” There was nothing that a grown-up would call disfigurement—except for that total disfigurement which is death itself. Grief was overwhelmed in terror. To this day I do not know what they mean when they call dead bodies beautiful. The ugliest man alive is an angel of beauty compared with the loveliest of the dead.

- Surprised by Joy
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