Heartbroken, but not broken f J a n u a t S n r p d m c c o h n s o y r 1 6 r a e u d c · Triggers are weird and stop me in my tracks some days. Yes, there’s the obvious ones but there are small, subtle ones too. I remember being in the grocery store (why are so many stories set in the grocery store?) and passing the frozen burrito aisle. Sawyer was the only one who would eat those single serve beef and jalapeño burritos in the frozen section. Understandably, they are not good. As I passed by them I had the thought, “I guess I’ll never buy those again,” and I cried. Over a burrito that was $.89 and not good to begin with, but it was my enemy in that moment. To be clear, it wasn’t the first nor the only time I cried in a grocery store. Once I finally got the courage to leave my house (whole other story) I wore sunglasses inside stores for months. I figured I’d rather be perceived as eccentric than sad. (Dissect that, and tell me we don’t have cultural assumptions about grief.) A
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