Grief

A number of American research institutions and the people who shaped them have already featured in this book the creation of the Materials Research Laboratories Robert Mehl s influence on the Naval Research Laboratory and on Carnegie Institute of Technology Hollomon s influence on the GE laboratory Seitz s influence on the University of Illinois (and numerous other places) Carothers and Flory at the Dupont laboratory the triumvirate who invented the transistor and the atmosphere at Bell Laboratories that made this feat possible Stookey, glass-ceramics and the Corning Glass laboratory. I would like now to round off this list with an account of a most impressive laboratory that came to grief, and the man who shaped it. 

Schmerz, m. pain grief, sorrow, -anfall, m. attack of pain,... 

Craig JC, Duncan IB, Hockley D, Grief C, Roberts NA, Mills JS (1991) Antiviral properties of Ro 31-8959, an inhibitor of human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) proteinase. Antiviral Res 16 295-305... 

Traditional psychodynamic therapy in the treatment of addiction often fails however, the principles of psychodynamic therapy are still valuable and important for a clinician in order to understand the patient and help him or her work through his or her mechanisms of defense, attachment difficulties, processing grief, and coping with internal and external drives.32 Among the validated and thoroughly studied approaches are the following ... 

I don t know. I never did. .. Perhaps it s because my grief for Adam never sleeps that such an old bewilderment can still make my throat ache. It s sad to think of the Chantry going out of the family at last, after all the times when Uncle Gareth managed to rescue it. ... 

Aye. But she hates York so, and the more now, in grief for Somerset. As your father says, she has all the valor that His Grace the King lacks, but not the wisdom to temper it. ... 

My mother s grief for the loss of her firstborn son was no less for being silent, or for the news being still uncertain. My own, coming so hard upon the loss of my husband, seemed more than my flesh might bear. And still we could not be sure. It might be a... 

Now Richard of Gloucester has used his cleverness to turn on his own kin. I know—I pray—that Louis is still free, but such hope as that gives me is a small, weak thing, and on its heels comes always fear for him. But chief of my terrors, waking and sleeping, are those for my boy Ned, who is my son in all but name. When I think of his head stooped under who knows what pain, my heart cramps my breath is stopped painfully by grief, as if I have been struck a blow in the throat. 

My fears for Antony never wholly left me, any more than my fear for John had the King s silent grief touched it and made my voice tremble just a little. Such a sorrow is hard to bear. And perhaps the more for those not granted time to mourn. ... 

Then Warwick captured my father and my brother John, and murdered them before the walls of Coventry. When I heard the news it was like being struck in the face by a bloodied fist. My father. My brother. A double grief. 

Mark, who was my past for so many years, until Adam healed all such wounds. Perhaps that s why missing Adam hurts so much, so easily. When he died, the paths of grief were already laid out for me. 

No. I can t be thinking that. I won t think it. Some trick of jet lag, or grief, or the English air of my past. I won t think it. Of course I want to show him that he ought to be at the Chantry, that he s welcome—no, more than that that he s necessary. I need to make him think there s something there for him. But I won t say that, it s too close to the bone. 

Anthony. He isn t here. Something akin to grief, a wisp of what I ve known for Adam, catches me in the throat. I can t find him. ... 

Desire. I should recognize it for what it is. No good pretending. Some trick of fatigue or grief or delayed shock or affection. Desire. No less but no more. Definitely no more. 

I can hold back my grief no longer. Under it I bow my head to my knees, and then it presses on me so greatly that I can no longer stay upright, and fall onto my side with my face to the wall, weeping for the end of my world, and for the world that will go on afterwards. 

All is quiet. Sleep hovers over me. I am wearied unto death with all that mortals must know weary with fear, weary with grief, weary with talking and planning and fighting, and weary with the old wound in my thigh, and the new wound in my heart—that I have destroyed Ned. 

It was a relief to wake, even with sore eyes and aching flesh, though by day the night s terrors still hovered in the dark edges of my mind. And even by daylight fear and grief for my boys lay in my heart, as heavy as lead. The days wore on, and we lived almost as straitly as if we were indeed in prison. 

And for me If I could but know they were provided for, I no longer cared for my own state. I was too weary to wish much for myself grief for my boys ran in my veins like a wasting sickness, yet I could not wish it gone, for to do so would be to wish them dead. I had no hope for them, I chose to act as if they were dead, yet I could not let hope die. 

I shall never reach the end of my grief for my boys it is unfathomable. But from near enough to it, deep in the well of my sorrow, I cried out, I cannot recall Ned s face. Or his voice. Or his smiles. 

Then Mai wept too, for Antony had ever held the chief place in her heart, and two winters had not served to still her grief, any more than they had mine. 

It s not even certain that this is his tomb, I read, despite the hopeful local labels. And yet someone s present, as they weren t at the castle a man and a woman mourning a child. It s not Elizabeth, not Anthony, who mourn this child they ve never stood where we stand and this is the home and the sorrow of their enemies. And yet somehow, in this air scented with long-dead candle-smoke, the cold and ancient stone, the bitter spice of myrrh. .. somehow they invade my senses and my mind and bring Anthony before me like an opium dream of the heart, and Elizabeth too, for losing a child is losing a child a grief unfathomable. 

O Elysabeth, my greatest grief is that I did not foresee what would come. May God forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself. I did not know Richard Gloucester for what he was, did not guard Ned as I should have guarded him. My most dear sister,... 

If Louis de Bretaylles feels his own grief rise, I cannot see it. After a moment he says, I must tell you that when Antony was taken I was with the Prince, your son, at Stony Stratford. I. . . Prince Edward had many good men about him, not least your son Sir Richard Grey, and I pray you will not think me a coward that I judged it better to be free, and do what I might in secret, than make yet one more prisoner to be buried in the Duke of Gloucester s fiefdom. ... 

I am weeping still, though not for long so much grief have I known that I have learned to stop my tears quickly when I must. 

After many hours the black, bitter stone that has been lodged in my heart for so many years begins to soften, as if my hot new grief is an alchemist s fire. 

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