The past few days I’ve been feeling a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach, like someone just died.
Grief has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it. You think you’re fine and all is well, and then bam, it is like liquid cement being siphoned into your veins. You have to accept it as part of your life, not fight it, and roll with the waves that crash onto the shore of your being. Let the water trickle and flow over your skin and limbs, stirring the weight into your soul to become who you are now.
When she left me that day, a part of her became a leaden force inside me. Some days it wears me down, when it first hits me, like lifting weights and feeling the pain in your muscles, but then after while it builds me up and makes me powerful, bolder, braver, nourishing me.
I surround myself with things that remind me of her: pink carnations, strawberries on toast, classical music playing on the radio, a book on a rainy day – these are things which bring me comfort and live out her legacy, which is what grief is meant to do – to carry you.
Grief has a way of benefiting if you let it; it is not a burden, but rather a gift, the gift of the gratitude of life. It reminds me that she loves me.
blaak sheep 