A conversation with grief
The sun is behind the mountains — lighting the sky and pushing against the sturdy shadow of rock. It’s beautiful.
In some ways, I feel such growth and strength in me. And in many ways, I feel a sense of pride and security. But I also feel a fragility that is crushing. It’s a hairline crack that threatens to shatter me completely — this grief. It’s an overarching sadness that in many ways leaves me feeling so alone.
So, I remind myself of the companionship grief offers — the rooted friendship it can bestow if only I invite it.
Maybe tonight I’ll make dinner for the two of us.
We’ll talk about how much we miss my daughter and Grief will witness my sadness and feel it too. He will know the pain of my other losses as well and sit closer. We will talk of Warren and the sting of knowing love is not always enough — even when it is strong and sincere. We will talk about Nigel and the pain of losing a friend so close. Of Melany and the sharp edge of a boundary laid, and the sad inability to meet it. We will remember the bonds of family and the specific torture that comes with not being able to save anyone. Mom, Josh, Kalan — I’m sorry.
Grief will hold my hand as I talk of my regret. How I wish I would have done more/been more for my lost daughters. Megan. Alissa. And he will nod sadly as I recall the ways in which I have betrayed myself and my highest values.
I will lay my head on his shoulder and speak my fears. What if I betray myself again? What if I fail my children? What if I never meet anyone who will give what I give? What if I’m always afraid? What if I’m never truly known by anyone?
And with the comfort only grief can give, he will say that he knows me — and loves me all the more because of it. He will show me the beauty of what I have felt and seen — and remind me of the privilege of truly experienced love. All the things I fear have happened and all the desires I harbor still might.
And regardless, look at the sky. Isn’t it beautiful?
Doesn’t that beauty exist despite the wars that rage, the abuse and neglect of man, the admiring eyes of others? Your life is a sunrise and its beauty exists despite the wars, abuses, or neglect — and it is present and lovely no matter who sees it. But know this — anyone who cares to look will see its beauty and find comfort there — even if they only stay a moment. Because it is the truth of who you are. Hope says so all the time and she knows you well.
I will settle then — into the comfort of his gaze. And know that I am seen.