In the immediate aftermath of her second son’s death, the author documents the methodical construction of a new framework for thought, moving from externally derived principles to a rigorously personal logic. Initially, she adopts the maxim “do things that work” (89), a lesson retained from her study of dialectical behavior therapy. This principle proves inadequate when confronted with social rituals of mourning that fail to work for her. She contrasts the quiet, practical support of friends who provide meals or simple companionship with the intrusive visit from a schoolmate who equates losing a child to suicide with her own children leaving for college. The schoolmate’s five-hour visit, framed by religious platitudes, reveals how conventional responses to grief may satisfy the needs of the speaker while exhausting the bereaved. This experience prompts an important revision: “do things that make sense to me” (92). This new axiom prioritizes personal coherence over external convention. 

Li’s decision to read Euclid’s Elements exemplifies this shift. The study of geometry offers a system of logic and demonstrable truths that also serves as a meaningful connection to James’s analytical mind. The author further refines this internal system with cognitive tools like the distinction between insignificant “pebbles” of thought and the meaningful “boulders” of reality. This analogy allows her to identify and dismiss automatic, self-pitying questions rather than granting them undue significance. Together, Euclidean logic and the pebble-boulder distinction establish a disciplined method for evaluating both experience and thought. By carefully distinguishing between meaningful realities and distracting narratives, the author develops an intellectual framework that reinforces the memoir’s broader commitment to reasoned attention, self-scrutiny, and Intellectual Engagement as an Alternative to Grief.

This section also charts an evolving understanding of time and existence, articulated through the recurring phrase “now and now and now” (96). The phrase draws a comparison with the famous soliloquy, “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,” from Shakespeare’s tragedy Macbeth (Shakespeare, William. Macbeth. Edited by Barbara A. Mowat and Paul Werstine, 2013. V.5.22). In this soliloquy, the titular character Macbeth expresses existential despair following the death of Lady Macbeth and the bleak march of time. Li re-examines the concept of time as she maps the differences between her two losses. In the six years following Vincent’s death, the perpetual “now” of her loss coexisted with the linear, future-oriented time required to parent James. Daily responsibilities kept her partially tethered to a conventional timeline where a future was still possible. After James’s death, however, this duality collapses. The indivisible “now” becomes her entire reality, an all-encompassing abyss. Her friend Brigid clarifies this shift by distinguishing between “outside time” after the first loss to “outside space” after the second (109). While being outside time allowed for an imagined dialogue with Vincent, being outside space describes a separation so absolute that language itself cannot bridge it. This altered understanding of reality culminates in the author’s realization that the two suicides are not separate tragedies but a single, continuous event. Vincent’s death shattered James’s sense of security, and the six years she spent grieving one loss were simultaneously the years in which James may have been contemplating another. The period between the two deaths is thus an unnoticed progression toward a second and final catastrophe. This unification of the two events into a single causal chain transforms her understanding of her own life and the nature of her loss. 

Through a series of detailed comparative recollections, the author also examines James’s distinct inner life in an effort to understand the vulnerabilities that shaped this progression. Unlike the flamboyant and outwardly expressive Vincent, James possessed a quiet, interior disposition. His precocious scientific interests, his self-described “monophobia,” and his identification with autistic authors all suggest an interior world that was largely inaccessible to others. This characterization serves an important analytical purpose: By defining James’s specific vulnerabilities, the author retroactively interrogates past parental decisions. She questions the choice to keep James in a conventional school to provide a “normal childhood,” weighing it against the possibility that a more tailored, protected environment might have better served his unique mind and deep anxiety. This self-interrogation demonstrates a Radical Acceptance of Facts, as she confronts her own agency and the limits of her understanding without seeking simple exoneration or comfort. By reconstructing James’s inner life as one marked by loneliness, anxiety, and a fear of isolation, the author provides a context for understanding the devastating consequences of Vincent’s death. The loss of his brother is not just an isolated tragedy, instead destroying the relationship that had anchored James’s sense of security.