When fourteen-year-old Isabel lost her father and little brother, she crossed into a world enormous with emptiness and gray-lit with grief. Days came and went–endless and vacant; nights–black, cold, stark. In the early mornings she heard her mother crying. Darkness in Isabel’s head and ice in her heart; her body weighty as stones, her clothes rubbing like sackcloth. Frequently her heart jumped as she heard her father talking or singing and her brother riding his tricycle in the driveway.
After three months, there was disquiet among relatives and friends, murmurs of concern: “Isn’t it time Isabel put an end to her grieving?” “These moods of hers!” “She should see someone.”
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