Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the unmailed letters and the lonely Decembers. The children ask, “Does it every go away?” They’re asking about heartache and you know better than to lie, so you answer truthfully and you say, “No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t go away.” One day you’re jumping into puddles and the next thing you know thirty years have passed and you’re telling your kids to walk around them. Everyone is taught to look both ways before crossing the street and to talk quietly in the library but nobody ever learns anything that matters – like how to keep breathing when your heart breaks in half.