If grief itself weren’t bad enough, she often is accompanied by another formidable beast. I’ve encountered him lately, and his name is guilt. Before I go any further, please suppress your instinct to tell me I shouldn’t feel any guilt because I loved fully, madly and deeply and went above and beyond to do whatever I could to help my husband. I did. I know that. In my heart I know that 100 percent. And he knows it, too. To his core. I believe that fully. But hear me out: guilt is real. Survivor’s guilt, caretaker’s guilt – both real. Because what if it’s ...