Grief Doesn't Define Who I Am
but it is a tremendous part of me
"When will it end," she asked.
Grief squeezed her hand, "My dear, it doesn't."
Then it hits.
Grief.
Slams into the chest, and the lungs feel as if they may collapse.
Breath struggles to release.
Tears burn.
The world concaves into a black hole centered within the heart.
That piece of us carved out the day they died, the phantom feeling of its existence is not of this world but another.
Disentangled with each second.
They are within reach but at a distant juncture.
We are shown our loved ones through sunsets, freshly baked cookies, favored music, full moons, and the first snow. Those comforts and aches of love overwhelm us as every emotion floods our veins.
Grief takes our hand and walks with us even when we push and pull away, but we are one.
Elements of loss nestled into my DNA, even before Dad died.
The anticipatory grief filtered in when the words, "It's terminal." scored my eardrums.
The holiday season unearths sentiments that turn tears into laughter, singing into sobs, grocery shopping into parking lot breakdowns. And in those moments, a warmth unfurls across my chest, and I feel seen. Perhaps it is a gesture from Dad showing me he is with me.
Or my Grandpa Bob or Grandma Buresh.
Or grief herself.
Or a mingle of all and every.
I sit in silence and witness my grief.
Every facet.
Every jagged piece.
To witness my grief and embrace it is to honor who I am.
Grief doesn't define who I am, but it is a tremendous part of me—it always will be—and I am okay with that.
Others may not be, and that's okay, too. I mean, it sucks, but I can't control other people.
What I can do is witness my grief without judgment.
I can witness others' grief.
I can feel it all, even when it brings me to my knees.
I can honor the legacy of love bestowed upon me by my ancestors, which will filter through to the next generation.
Grief is sewn into my life in many ways. Plucking at the threads doesn't make it better. It just unravels what is and what was. Each stitch is a part of my tapestry of life, death, & rebirth.
As winter approaches, the horizon darkens, and the cold envelops the landscape. The warm holiday glow brings heaviness. Rest now; grief cocoons me in a soft blanket of tears, laughter, anger, and calm. Grief is with me eternally; I am not alone, though I am lonely because loss is isolating; grief holds my hand as I move through each wave.
There are moments when I push her away, but when I let go, I feel my dad.
"It's okay, my Andrea girl. It's okay." He whispers.
I close my eyes and nestle into his voice, spirit, and love.
And rest.
That is grief.
Messy. Unpredictable. Bittersweet.
Because grief is love.
They are love.
We are loved.
