This is the story of my grief recovery after my daughters overdose death. "So perhaps you think this is going to be a tale of how I traveled to some exotic land, how I left everything behind, and how I met fellow travelers on some road to Zanzibar to recover from my grief. Perhaps you think this is going to be a story of redemption, of how I lost myself in booze and then found myself on some street corner or dark alley, and then got my life back together again. No, rather this is the story of how I went deep inside myself and found a reservoir of strength in my day to day existence, in the small motions and rituals of ordinary life. For many of us do not have the luxury of “leaving it all behind”. We must move forward, inch by inch, increment by increment, waking up each day to face a world that seems so empty to us now, climbing an internal mountain every single day, an epic mountain taller than Mt. Everest, a mountain that the outside world cannot view. So to you, fellow grief travelers, I say, be tough in your own little way. Pull on your sturdy grief knapsack with all the sturdy grief supplies in it, ropes and pulleys, and trudge your way up the grief mountain. Because I’ll be waiting for you at the top."