Grief is complex. There are plenty of good, productive days. But once in a while, there are terrible days when immense sadness consumes every filament that the whys seem never ending. You’d think, “I hoped for and gave so much” that it’s easy to lose sight of the truth that the person you lost gave so much of themselves too – and they also lost the same things you did: a lifeline, an ally, company, a source of joy, hope, a way of life. That once, you were two people sharing each other’s lives to create a safe space that only you two understand, inhabit, and return to when either needs solace.
It rained so much on my desk last night I was drowning in a puddle. In the midst of it, my wise, amazing friend, Celine, reminded me, “I was witness to how this connection made you happy – so much that it manifested physically. While it left pain in your life, it also left you with so many beautiful and lasting things. So while you say you’re happy this person’s life is better because you two happened, I’ll also say yours is better too. So much has come out of that. And majority is for the good. And deep down, you both know it.”
I sometimes forget that on bad days.
So today, upon rising, I take to a blank page and write a micropoem, “After separation”. I transferred it to my felt letter board to remind myself every second. The tears fell once more as I wove the words, light replacing the transient disappointment and hurt. All the good rushed in. Even our parting was kind and loving. Oh how profound and countless those moments were that my mind and spirit flowed with happiness, hope, gratitude, and trust every day. My body followed.
After pinning the last letter, I muttered, “Thank you for your gift; for handing me what you were afraid to entrust to anyone – your past, wounds, trust, your soul. I will honor what we had by remembering the good. It was a soul-stirring, honest, comforting, and life-changing journey with you. It was real, however brief. I felt loved and cared for. May each day find you in a place where remembering touches you with its light and with the certainty that you too were deeply loved and cared for – and still are, despite this distance.”