Don’t run away from grief, O soul.
Look for the remedy inside the pain
Because the rose came from the thorn
And the ruby came from a stone.
I have been weepy lately.
I struggle to imagine in a few short months it will be three years since we lost my sister (and 3 years and 7 months since we lost my brother).
The pain is still so fresh.
I ran away from grief so much for the past few years. Maybe that is why it feels like yesterday.
Sometimes it feels like now.
I wake from dreams (nightmares really) in the hospital, unable to do anything to change the situation.
Really the dreamscapes are not in the hospital, but every other conceivable situation where you are watching the accident happen -- sometimes over and over -- unable to do anything to change the outcome.
I wake exhausted as if I had not slept. I feel like I have been through a grueling workout -- uphill both ways, shall we say.
And I weep. The tears pouring out because I know that there is no way to stop them, and, indeed no reason to.
And there are waking dreams, too, where I am lead back to other hurts and losses that haven't been fully processed in order to release them.
I wish I could say weeping makes me feel better, that it was some kind of release or catharsis.
But it is purely an expression of grief. I grieve all the days I will not have with them. I grieve the loss of the me that only they knew, that they took with them to their graves.
I grieve for the adult relationship we will never have.
I grieve for the tears in the fabric of our lives that their deaths rented.
I shudder when I remember they will not see their children grow, that they will give no advice, not see their grandchildren born.
I sometimes feel I will break under the pressure their absence heaves on my shoulders.
I cannot be them; I cannot do their bidding; I cannot substitute or compensate. In fact, how often have I felt that the thought of me being the one left to my parents or my younger siblings has caused them (and me) more grief?
I can only be me -- and right now I am weepy.
I want so desperately to be on the other side of grief, if there is one. I am not always convinced that it is possible.
But like the squeegee hunt, with grief, there is only one way -- through it.
As hard as it is, I am grateful to have finally allowed myself to be open enough to feel this grief. Grateful for friends who encourage me and hold me in their thoughts, willing me the strength to do this. Grateful to the universe for holding this spot for me until I was ready to jump in it.