Dec. 11, 2016 

Sunday mourning crossword

by Kristen Cussen

For a downloadable version, click here.


  1. The mode through which you learned Jaymie died.
  2. A time before womanhood spent catching toads, singing karaoke on the Wii and comparing J-14 quiz results.
  3. A really, really shitty age to die.
  4. A man named Steve who lives in the back of a crystal shop and charges $90 plus tax — unless you pay cash — for comfort and false hope. According to Steve, Jaymie has returned to the sun and your father will have a heart attack by Christmas (he did not).
  5. Releasing balloons to Jaymie in public parks just in case Psychic Steve was right. 
  6. A word commonly used to fill space. 
  7. The mourning dove nest outside your window, dimes on the street and BYEJ license plates when you need them most. 
  8. The last text I never responded to. 


  1. A status marked by woven bracelets, nicknames and sleepovers.
  2. Grieving someone outside of your blood line.
  3. Studying Shakespeare’s tragedies in Grade 12 English class while living your own tragedy.
  4. That time you dressed up as a slutty clown to a Halloween party and had a (very public) breakdown when someone played Forever and for Always by Shania Twain. 
  5. Friends who called an Uber to save you from further public embarrassment and listened to your drunk lecture on “memento mori” for the entire 45-minute drive home between spurts of back-window vomit. 
  6. An expression of sympathy, often performative and awkward. E.g, giving flowers to mourners so they can watch more things die. 
  7. A distraction from grief, a search for connection, or the illusion of closeness for a staggering five minutes — orgasm not included. 
  8. Having to address the wall shrine of photos when someone new comes over. 
  9. A word without wings that starts in the back of your throat. Maybe I’ll wake up and be 17 again.
  10. As in one day I will have lived without Jaymie for longer than I lived with her.
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