I am wondering where did my grief go?
It was here in the center of my chest traveling upwards towards my throat.
My limbs were carrying it, and becoming too heavy.
My breath was catching, as it wanted all of my focus.
*
The grief that was here, living within my every cell, is somehow concealing itself.
I was somehow able to laugh, to do the laundry, and to water the plants.
I watched flowers grow, and somehow that which was impossible became possible.
*
Grief is never really gone and I am not so sure why she ought to be.
There is intrigue in the meditation of that which can exist so delicately, and also with an aliveness that is likened to one of nature’s most devastating disasters.
*
What exactly is the trajectory and where is the route or even the map to understand, where does grief go? There was a moment she was barely perceptible and I actually forgot to call her by name.
*
Is there a timetable that will assist in the prediction of her arrival.
Will she approach on a high speed train, or one that ambles and stops at each town along the way. What kind of attention will she require? Might she sit more quietly with me, or will she ask for everything?
*
I would like to be a person that can adapt to grief’s needs as she is so often denied and therefore carrying some wounds.
Though, there are times I must politely and lovingly tell her, I am not available for a deeper rendezvous.
*
It is my preference to remain kind in my no thank-you’s.
In truth, there are still occasions when I lose all of my faculties for beneficence.
*
Sweet grief, as I learn love more deeply still, I know of our intensifying intimacy. Perhaps, as our relationship builds over the course of a lifetime, you may come to trust me enough to reveal where it is you go when we are apart or what it is like for you when I attempt to refuse your closeness.
*
I want to be welcoming whenever you return.
