Dear Team Craig, Grief is a rabid dog. Common wisdom says that a reminder of your loved one, a picture, a favorite food or song, will set it off, then it comes as a wave, and you’re off for the ride. Days can go by when I feel just a quiet numbness, a dull ache, or even spells of gratitude for the warmth of friendship or other small gift from God. Then the dog, ready for a feeding frenzy, pounces and rips my guts out with its claws. Tonight there was not even a slight signal. I was indulging in one of my guilty pleasures, watching “The Bachelor”. Nothing about this show reminds me of Craig, but there it was, a sudden knife thrust. I wanted my son. I WANTED MY SON. I didn’t cry, but I felt like screaming. In Sarah Berger’s book, “Have Heart”, she talks about the thin veil that separates us from our loved ones in heaven. Her son Josiah is not lost, she writes; he is living on the other side of that veil. This image has helped me greatly, but tonight I felt like I morphed into that dog. Restrained by a short leash, choked by a collar, I lunged repeatedly at the veil. I was desperate to tear away that veil, grab Craig, and run, deep, deep, deeper into heaven. But the leash was too short and the veil just out of reach. There is no doubt, death is the enemy of love, of all that is meaningful and precious. Panting, winded, I cling to one frayed strand of hope, that though death is kidnapping way too many brave knights, he will LOSE THE FINAL BATTLE!