The Thing About Grief.
I am a mother now. But my son did not survive. He is my Lost One.
The thing about grief is that it makes you crazy. “Where am I, who am I, what am I doing right now, because I forgot already?” kind of crazy.
The thing about grief is that every breath you take is actually an outstretched hand. It is bruised and broken fingers trying to find a ledge to hold onto, a frantic effort to climb out of the hole in your soul you fell into when They left. Each exhale is not an ascension, merely rest.
The thing about grief is it is contradictory and paradoxical. You want to see no one. You wish everyone would come over to hang out and laugh. You do not want to talk about it. You hope someone will ask so maybe, just maybe you can feel understood for a moment. You want to crawl into a corner of your closet and stay there. You want to run farther away than you have ever been before.
The thing about grief is you want to scream so loudly and fiercely, it feels like mountains would crumble around you and apocalyptic waves would crash at your feet. Scream until every piece of glass shattered, the way you have shattered. But you do not dare open your mouth for fear you would never be able to stop once you started.
Also, the thing about grief is that no matter what the hell it is you are doing or how you are acting, the people who love you simply amaze you. They wipe snot from your nose after you have cried hard enough to burst veins in your eyes. They send texts every morning just to say hi, but really, they want to make sure you got out of bed today. If you did not, they will help you do it. They feed you when you cannot eat, hold you when you cannot sleep. You are never alone.
The thing about grief is you know, down in your bones, that now your Lost One lives in every beat of every great song, every chirping bird in every tree, each and every tear running down your cheeks. You are overwhelmed by Their vastness and Their constance. They are the pulse beneath the skin, beneath the ground, deeper than dirt. They are the sunlight in your eyes, waiting just beyond the place you can see.
The thing about grief is that nothing is the same. It will not ever be. And you do not want it to be.
But the thing about grief is that while you are screaming, crying, laughing and trying, grief is dragging you back to who you were before you were. Who you were before you gave a shit about money, your waistline, or what happens tomorrow. Grief makes you the most human you have ever been, for as far back as you can remember. Grief demolishes the skyscraper and reveals the open field, making space for you to cry while you dance, laugh while you cry. Grief reminds you to accept help when you need it, and even ask for it, utterly without shame. Grief peels back everything there is, everything you have become until you are naked and exposed. Grief makes you see what is left, what was always there before and after It came, before and after the Lost One came.
Rippling, constant, enormous love. All you ever were, all you ever need to be. And somewhere, beyond the sunlight, behind the stars, in the love abyss, He is here with me.