I know grief. We’re not friends

I know grief. We’re not friends.

Grief works like a thief, it takes parts of me.

But, it seems to leave different pieces behind.

It’s weird, and works in opposite ways; a force without limits or regard of time or space. The worst: the fucker grief visits without an invite and then overstays. A special kind of terrible guest. Ruuude.

I hate grief, for stealing my softness. But to it’s credit, it leaves resiliency behind.

Grief makes visible cracks of naivety. But then, fills them in with experience, gratitude. And it lays down an urgency… a craving for more of everything I can do, see, feel, be… until my eyes close for the last time.

Grief is like a destructive reconstruction. Painful. I hate it. I hate it for myself… I miss a softer me sometimes. I hate it for anyone who feels weight of loss. But, I accept it. I mean, what can we do? We can’t change mortality or the reality around it (only a couple of letters diff…). Mortality = reality. Yes, that bites.

Grief closes me. It makes me protective of what and who I love… myself included. But, it also opens me. It cracks me open and pours in grace. So I’m receptive to the journey; unafraid to live. Grateful. Thankful for every chance to open my eyes, to try again, to breathe, believe, laugh, dance, give, receive, learn, teach, love, cry, fall down, stand up ~

Think about it. We live on a whirling rock orbiting around a star at a precise distance, with exact conditions to support life. It’s crazy beautiful and too perfect to be accidental. Painful as it is, grief reminds me of that magic, and how lucky I am to be a part of it

Life is a gift, the lesson

Grief, the teacher

~ written in remembrance and with love: Margaret, JW, Thelma, Shelby, Sandy, Fred, Lynne, Violet, Maha, Jeremiah