And this is what living next to a waterfall is like, Safran. Every widow wakes one morning, perhaps after years of pure and unwavering grieving, to realize she slept a good night’s sleep, and will be able to eat breakfast, and doesn’t hear her husband’s ghost all the time. Her grief is replaced witha useful sadness. Every parent who loses a child finds a way to laugh again. The timbre beins to fade. The edge dulls. The hurt lessens. Every love is carved from loss.