Taking grief one morning at a time

For months after my brother died I could not sleep, and the mornings were the worst part. A friend suggested I walk before the sun came up, just around the block, no phone. The first week I cried through most of it. But the route got familiar, and somewhere around the third week I started noticing birds again. I still walk every morning. I use it to talk to him, to sort out my day, to breathe. Grief did not get smaller, but my mornings got bigger, and that was enough to build on.