Dear Grief
It hurts, but you’re teaching me to grow
Today, I sit with you again just like I did almost a year ago.
How is it that you come so quietly, so stealthily, without any word of warning, without any banner to announce your coming? How is it that you come and go as you please, never minding the chaos you leave in the wake of your passing by? Never minding the shrivelled bones and parched souls, the heart-shattering sorrow, the questions, the eyes that burn with tears that refuse to fall.
I’ve been acquainted with you in many forms. For my limited mind and the dull ache of my heart, sometimes I think it is too many. I’ve seen you in the face of broken friendships and lost relationships. I’ve seen you at the ending of a season and the closing of a book. I’ve seen you in the death of loved ones, in the passing from one life to the next. I’ve seen you in the early mornings and late evenings and even in the middle of bright afternoons when all seems fair and beautiful.
But then you come charging in, leaving me breathless, gasping, reeling. Leaving me questioning, railing at the heavens, demanding an answer — why, why, why? Why do you never come slowly and give us time to process things before hitting us fully? Why must you come so quickly, so devastatingly, so coldly, so sharply? Why must you leave behind more questions than…
