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I forgot how to laugh. Not the polite, social chuckle you do at a coworker’s joke. I mean the belly laugh—the one that comes from a place of safety. I looked at old videos of myself and didn’t recognize the girl who threw her head back with joy. I thought she had died on that day. In a way, the old me did. But grief for a lost self is the lonest grief of all, because no one brings you casseroles for the death of your innocence.

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It’s easy to look at a graph showing rising rates of a disease and feel detached. It is much harder to ignore the story of a mother describing her fight for recovery or a young adult navigating life after a terminal diagnosis. Stories provide a face, a name, and a heartbeat to the numbers. 3. Providing a Roadmap I looked at old videos of myself and