When it hits.

I've been trying to figure out how to describe what it feels like when the grief hits.

A wave.

A cloud.

Sandbags.

A heavy blanket.

Gravity x infinity.

A tranquilizer.

Cold, wet clothes.

A severe beating (I imagine).

A sinus headache in my entire body.

And none of those really adequately describe it.

Have you ever read the Vonnegut story called Harrison Bergeron?  The concept is basically about weighing people down who are more intelligent or more athletic than the average person so that everyone is the same.  When this hits, it sort of feels like that - like someone, somewhere, thought I was too happy and gave me the most terrible handicap.