Why She Sang
Take your time, they said.
You’re going through the worst part.
Anything might come.
She burst into song.
Her heart has habits of joy.
No matter what comes.
Wide-eyed, they were stunned.
How can this possibly be?
She’s supposed to cry.
Because you don’t know what’s coming, expect anything.
Expect nothing, too. That’s just as valid, equally possible.
Let what comes be what comes — and let go of what needs to go.
Grief hits each one of us differently, so there is no one way, no right approach.
Losing a person, a dog, a dream is part of our own life story — and we’re the only one who knows what that loss means and how it feels to us.
Our dog died.
A beloved family member died ten days later.
November was short, grim, dark.
Only now are we finding our way to a new normal.
It is an uneven, back-and-forthing between tears and disbelief and moving on.
The small things loom large and the large aren’t so big anymore.
Grief has a way of altering dimensions, of transforming what we see and how we see it.
So, if she laughs, she laughs. If she cries, she cries.
It’s up to her what she does with the grief she clasps to her heart, struggles to live with.
If she drops to the ground and plays with the puppy, laugh with her. If she is singing and you want to sing along and that’s what the two of you do, sing.
When and if someone veers off-key, you know what to do:
Keep singing.
