I was looking for a grief quote to post to someone's fb page - someone I don't know well, so I wanted it to be general but meaningful. I thought, let me look at the posts I have marked *grief* here as I had in mind a particular quote. Usually, I would look through the *Poetry Thursday* but I hadn't been able to find the one I wanted, so I tried *grief* instead.
What a trip down the rabbit hole... I kept fearing the ground shifting, losing my bearing and falling back down into the hole. But I did not. Instead, with tears welling in my eyes, I witnessed the journey of my grief.
My grief journey began with shock ... trauma that knocked me down and deprived me of words. I found solace in pictures, holding what had been and could be no more as closely as possible.
There is no vocabulary for this,
the no-langauge of grief.
I can reveal what my brain thinks
but where are the words for
this vague pain I feel?
-Irene Earis
The Baffling Dead
Slowly, the pictures gave way to word postcards about the feelings -- words coming back before actual feelings. I was holding my breath most days, hoping the next bad thing wouldn't annihilate me.
Eventually, stories began to tumble out -- some here, some in real life, and tears... so many tears. But painful tears. And those stories were like daggers at the beginning. Once again taking me to the depths of loss, plunging me into the darkness of sorrow and what could never be again.
So much pain, so much anguish, so few words could contain them. I used quotes, poems, pictures to hold the place for the pain.
Life continued. I can hardly believe it has been almost three years since we lost my sister. It was not that long ago that I was still living the dream/waking/nightmare where I would wake and believe it was a very bad dream, that she was not dead. And I saw her everywhere. My mind unwilling to confront the truth.
And spending time with my beloved nieces and nephews was the bittersweet dark chocolate covering salty pretzels, joy and pain joined in these times my sister and brother could not know.
I can say it is not as hard, not like those times with no words, like that half awake time. The sucker punches less often catch me off guard. I am learning to dodge the jagged edges of memories so they do not cut into my flesh, into my soul.
But the tears come more easily now. I miss them no less. I feel their loss no less acutely. I just continue down the path hoping against hope someday their memories will bring me more bitter than sweet, more solace than pain.
I am told I will get there someday ... changed irrevocably, but not diminished.
Posts
