The other four balls...are made of glass. Every parent who loses a child finds a way to laugh again. I think that you’ve got to make something that pleases you. Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The timbre begins to fade. The edge dulls. The hurt lessens. Every love is carved from loss. and hope that other people feel the same way. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, The edge dulls. The hurt lessens. Every love is carved from loss. Mine was. And you're keeping all of them in the air. Yours is. Your great-great-great-grandchildren's will be. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. Every parent who loses a child finds a way to laugh again. The other four balls...are made of glass. Her grief is replaced with a useful sadness.
Warm Regards
