The grief is pouring out of me like early days.
I don’t sleep well. I wake up tired, spent. I am unhappy, uncomfortable, as though I am the princess and there is a pea hidden under my skin. My patience is worn, my smile forced. Finally I take a moment to sit, to breathe, to feel where in my body I hurt. The hole in my heart has reopened – not that it was closed, but perhaps scabbing over. Its blackness yawns. I stumble into the bathroom and sob, quietly, so as not to disturb the morning too much. I go inside, ask my heart what will heal it today. I get answers – simple ones. Connect to your husband. Laugh with your daughter. Clean your house. Write. Dance. Stand with your toes at the ocean’s edge and scream – let it out, let it go.
Grief is a personal journey. It doesn’t follow a linear path. I didn’t want to climb this mountain again, but here I go. Maybe it will be easier this time. And I remember, the view from the top is breath taking.