When Grief Returns

What is it about grief that sneaks up on you at a moment's notice.

In the quiet of the night. In a memory. In a song coming through the stereo.

What is it about grief that never knocks, never asks for permission, barges in, makes itself at home, and asks for a cup of tea.

Why. Without a moment's notice, does it invite its friends- regret, guilt, shame.

Here comes sadness, anger, rage. Flooding in, one by one through the door, before you know it, we have a party.

But the guest list was only me.

"It's been years," I say, "How have you been? Tell me, what is new?"

I'm not sure if I even care to know, or if I'm just being polite. Everyone is here, so I may as well entertain.

They tell me they have lots of new insight to share with me. But first, they want to know what is new with me.

I am reluctant to share, open up, it's been too long, how can I trust this?

They're so loud, disturbing my peace. It was quiet before you got here, I think to myself.

I want to ask them to leave, but we both know they won't.

They grow louder, rowdy, they really want me to hear them.

I try to ignore. They continue on.

They are begging for my attention. I won't cave in.

They are relentless- the lack of humanity, have mercy!

They're running rampant now, destroying everything in sight. They knock over a glass frame, a photo, a tortured memory. It shatters.

"What do you want from me!" I scream, "I can't entertain you forever."

Gently, "We just want a moment of your time."

I surrender, collapsing beneath them, I can't pretend anymore.

I speak. They listen.

I cry. They let me.

I'm quiet. They sing.

The night carries on this way for what seems like eternity.

Hours pass without motion. They sit by my side.

I feel comfort. They honor where I am.

And then I get this feeling. I can't explain it. I don't want to. I want to feel it, know it, express it.

It moves through me, I'm dancing. It flows. They join.

Our harmonies become one tune of integration.

I'm not my body, nor my mind.

Time, space, fear, illusion, gone.

I feel more alive than I've ever felt before.

Is this what it means to be human? To exist?

To be as a child seeing snow fall for the first time? To be the first new bud of spring? To breathe in the smell of the first season's rain?

Dawn rises. They retreat into the morning light as I peacefully sleep.

I dream of the near moment when I wake. I know it won't feel old. I know it won't be new. On the contrary. A mosaic rise.

I see so much more

because

I am so much more

because

I felt so much more

because

I stopped fighting

because

I let you in

because

I didn't run

because

I let you exist

because

I honored the significance of me.