so the king said to me, “Why is your face sad, though you are not ill? This could only be sadness of the heart.” I was overwhelmed with fear and replied to the king, “May the king live forever! Why should I not be sad when the city where my fathers are buried lies in ruins, and its gates have been destroyed by fire?”
On the first morning back, someone might stop beside you to say they're sorry for your loss, and then there's a small quiet that neither of you quite knows how to fill. You nod, they go back to what they were doing, and the work is still waiting. Part of you may have hoped work would be a relief, a place where your mind could be busy with something else for a while.
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