So often the people we love are in trouble much earlier than we may realize, and it’s when they are plummeting that our grief actually begins. As they are still alive, just like emotional hostages, we are forced to watch them decline and slowly destroy themselves. We feel impotent, helpless. In our book, we describe watching our children drown while we stand at the edge of the pool, our feet embedded in quicksand. And then, once they died, the experience was vaguely familiar, as though we had been watching it unfold as bystanders. This can happen in many sizes, shapes and circumstances — as we observe our parents aging or experiencing diminished capacity resulting from Alzheimer’s, dementia or cancer. We grieve what once was, what may never be again, and we find ourselves either holding on for dear life, or struggling to let go.