We’d decided to spend election night in Verona at our daughter’s and son-in-law’s house. The next day was our granddaughter’s 4th birthday, and we reasoned that we’d have two reasons to rejoice. We were wrong. The next day, the only thing we could celebrate was Charlie. But even Charlie, dressed in her princess gown, her wide grin and masses of curly brown hair constantly falling into her sparkling eyes, failed to cheer me up. Fried potatoes for breakfast only added to my overwhelming nausea. Sharing my grief with others who were grieving just like me offered only temporary respite. Finally,