What happens when you pile grief upon grief upon grief, never finding the time or the energy to process the loss, the emotion, the questions, the empty space?
When the wedding photo of you and your spouse posed amongst your grandparents starts to feel like a scene out of Back to the Future, the people disappearing, one by one by one, until it’s just the two of you standing–alone.
When your children no longer blink as you instruct them to sit down, already knowing you’re about to utter the words, “We have to talk. It’s bad news.” The only question left is, “Who died this time?”
When the anger bubbles up, but there’s no where for it to go, so you stir it a little, tempering the bubbles back down below the edge, hoping to figure it out before the whole pot explodes.
When you dream of dead relatives–driving cars, making meals, leading you through the forest–and you know there must be some kind of deeper meaning, but you’re too afraid to look it up.
When you throw out yet another dress you wore to yet another funeral because it’s now attached to that memory, that loss, that ache in your gut… but now you’ve got yet another funeral to attend and no dress.
When you sit with the odds and ends of a loved one’s life piled in the corner of your home office for a year or more simply because you can’t bring yourself to look through it, to remember, to let go.
When every song on the radio changes meaning; love songs and sad songs and even happy songs now all tainted with memory and sorrow.
When the tragic death of a celebrity gives you an outlet for your feelings, a time and place to cry, because your unending grief seems to have no beginning, no end.
When the words won’t come anymore. They haven’t for years. So you sit, silent, stunted, waiting. For healing. For peace. For something. For anything.