You know that feeling when the disconnect between expectation and reality hits you like a physical blow, and you’re just there, an observer of your own grief, watching your mother, who used to be this witty, formidable force, just stare blankly at her favorite pie, not even a flicker of recognition, and you’re supposed to be strong, you’re supposed to be handling everything, but you just weep silently, and it’s not even about the pie, or the memory, it’s about this profound, almost existential shift, this unmooring from everything you thought was certain, and it just… is, and you don’t understand the why of it, or the what of it, just the overwhelming, silent fact of it.