Packing Grief

  • The Beginings of the Packing Grief Series

    I write today broken hearted. Over the past few weeks I have tried to sit down and write.  Purge myself of the heartache, share it, own it, but have ended up wearing it like a shroud. I have pulled the sadness down over my eyes, hoping to blot out my heart that threatens to pull apart at the seams. So many of those that I love are broken in body or spirit or have left me altogether. I've written of onions and storms, chains and bridges but I can't seem to find the words for this raw place deep in me. I have craved a cathartic moment to move me out of this position of writhing. An idea, something to focus on, to roll over in my mind and stroke to life with words. The need to forget my heart and the pain that builds daily has me trapped like a bird beating its wings against a cage. I've tried to lock it down, push it away.  I know rationally that because I love I also hurt, that the openness of truly caring can also bring deep despair. But I find pain leaves me  in a place that doesn't obey rationality. 

    I had the honor of sitting beside life long friends in a hospice ward while their mother lay dying. I cannot begin to tell you of the sweet moments laced with such profound sadness that passed between us. There are no words to encapsulate this woman's life and the love she shared with her family and friends. I can tell you that as soon as the door closed it opened again bringing more people to honor the woman she was in life. There was no ebb in the tide of people that came, no pause in the outpouring of love on her daughters who stood bravely beside their mother's bed. It is a different kind of courageous that walks on in the face of loss. 
     I have pulled at these chains that bind my heart and weigh me down. But there is no neat little box to put raw emotion in, there are no words to describe the brokenness of sickness and loss. The heartbreak just is and we must revel in it to be able to walk through it. That is the only truth my grief has brought. 
    Grief is viseral.
    My catharsis came when I started this series. Every location I carried my suitcase to I mentally packed my heartache and loss and left it by the road when I was finished. I cannot say my heart is whole but I can celebrate life instead of mourning death.