What it does, in ordinary words

Grief is not only sadness. People arrive expecting sadness and are frightened by the rest of it.

It gets into the body. Tiredness that sleep does not touch. A tight chest. Appetite gone or appetite strange. A physical ache when you see their handwriting on an old envelope.

It gets into thinking. You lose words. You read the same line four times. You drive somewhere and cannot account for the journey. People assume they are losing their minds and they are not, they are carrying something heavy with the same machinery they use for everything else.

And it moves oddly through time. Ten minutes where you forget, and then the remembering, which is its own small event. Some people say the worst part is the second the news arrives again each morning.