My friend Joe just sent me this. From the play “Rabbit Hole” by David Lindsay-Abaire:
BECCA: Mom? Does it go away?
BECCA: This feeling. Does it ever go away?
NAT: No. I don’t think it does. Not for me, it hasn’t. And that’s goin’ on eleven years. (beat) It changes though.
NAT: I don’t know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under. And carry around – like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in awhile, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: “Oh right. That.” Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it’s kinda … Not that you like it exactly, but it’s what you have instead of your son, so you don’t wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn’t go away, which is …
NAT: Fine … actually.