Grief stalks.

It waits, then mocks.

“I’ll take you down!” it sneers.

And, right now, I’m almost too tired to stand my ground or shrug it off or fight back.

I should have expected it. Almost a year after my late friend Kathy lost her husband to a sudden heart attack some years back, she confided that the pain of loss was growing more intense, not less. It was, she said, impossible to shake off.

Call me naive, but this surprised me.

After all, everybody assures you that “time heals all wounds.”

But how much time? Surely not six months — roughly how long it’s been since I lost Joe. A year? Maybe. Oh, Lord, I hope so.

Would it all hurt any less if I fled to a place, somewhere far away, where bittersweet memories are not everywhere around me?

Will a sense of peace one day replace the fight-or-flight that is my “new normal?” How and when will I escape this relentless stalker?