The dirty secret she’d learned about grief was that nobody wanted to hear about your loss a week after the funeral. People you’d once considered friends would turn their heads in church or cross to another side of a shopping mall to avoid the contamination of your suffering. “You might imagine I’m coping day by day,
In this quiet place on a quiet street
where no one ever finds us
gently, lovingly, freedom gives back our pain.
–from poem In a Quiet Place on a Quiet Street
I’ve attempted to flood the path with light where I could, and where I could not I’ve wanted at least to hold up a candle so that others coming this way might not stumble too painfully.
Have you ever walked along a beach? You walk towards something in the distance. For the longest while it never seems to get any closer even though you are walking and walking. Then all of a sudden, you are there. You’ve arrived at last. That’s what grief is like. Meanwhile we are running with you in the spray of the surf at the edge of the shore where the sand meets the sea. We are cheering you on.
He didn’t sleep. His mother was too close. He could see every crease on her face, every worry line he’d ever given her.
It makes the other one more precious and also not enough. We have to try to fill not only our own boots but other people’s too – yours, Leo’s, Dad’s. We have to expand at the moment we feel the most shrunk.
If knowledge is lacking, your destruction is inevitable.
Although it seems shocking to say so, grief is a funny thing. On the one hand, you’re numb, yet on the other, something inside is trying desperately to claw its way back to normal: to pull a funny face, to leap out like a jack-in-the-box, to say “Smile, damn you, smile!
Journey becomes difficult when we know the destination but not aware of the right path, may be the supreme power testing your moral and physical stamina.
Grief does not change you. It reveals you.