My 4 year old son Michal died 11 years ago and I still grieve him every day. It is deep in my bones, an abscess. As this beautiful and heavy article describes, the act of grieving became an addiction to me. I kept "breaking beautiful things" in my mind because living with the ghost child instead of the living world kept his memory closer and my hands less shaky. He was an addiction, I had rituals I had to do (watch old videos, peruse old photos) every day. Without these things, I felt like I was betraying him. I fantasized about digging up his bones a lot. All a ruse, a cycle in my own mind, designed to soothe an addict haunted by his ghost child. A divorce and lots of personal writing and tears (and so many years) later, I am in a healthier place. But "grief is what love looks like when they're gone" is a simple and poignant way to put it: I will always be haunted, and I will always love the haunt, but I cannot be owned by him like I was for so many years. When he comes to haunt me, I welcome it. But unlike before, I don't smother him. Now I let him float away too.