The path of grief is never a straight line.
I got the call on a Wednesday evening from my husband. Earlier in the day, he had driven by a cliff where traffic had been stopped, with helicopters and fire engines on the scene. He had heard that a truck had gone over the cliff, but that’s all he knew. Later that day, he found out the truck had been driven by our friend. The place where it was driven off the cliff made it clear that it had been purposeful.