There comes a time when everything reminds you of what you’ve lost. You can think positive thoughts, you can recite affirmations, but they aren’t able to fill the void. It’s hollow and echoes when you call out for help.
During this time, it’s winter. It’s a barren, leafless forrest where you pray for sunlight and warmth and a red rose amongst the dullness. There is a fog in the distance, rushing towards you. No matter how quickly you try to trudge in the opposite direction, it isn’t fast enough.
Time melts into hour-less days. Your body burns like an endless furnace. Sleep eludes even then most exhausted mind — and it wanders.
You try so hard to push away the invite, the one where your mind pulls you towards memories that call tears to the surface.
You remember when making love was sexy and exciting. When showering wasn’t a dreaded task. When leaving the house meant an adventure, not apprehension.
And then you get sucked in further, the fog consuming the air around you. It pulls you down, down, down into the sickening cave of loss. It displays a hallway filled with photos of joy. You stare at each one trying to remember what that felt like. You wonder if it will ever happen again.
If life will ever happen again. Or love. Or a sense of worth. Because grief, the numbing need of love to both leave and consume your entire body, is like a sprinkling frost. It covers the entire forrest bed. It isn’t concentrated, a manageable mess you can sweep in one merciful swoop. It’s spread around. It touches every foundation. You step in it, breathe it in, choking your lungs. You wear it, see it, hear it.
It’s the little girl walking across the street twirling in abandon. It’s the couple kissing slowly in your favorite movie. It’s the bee buzzing near a bush. The pool party. The pregnant woman. The black dress.
No matter where you look, the grief is there. There is no escape.
But there is.
The very synapses that are stirring your mind, firing bullets into your heart, can also be your saving grace. Your panacea.
Let them feel. Allow them to know it’s okay to be sad. Take the hit. Let it bloody you and burry you. Because it’s real. What you’ve lost deserves a burial, a grave where you can place those solemn prayers. Everything you’ve surrendered and sacrificed — let it know it wasn’t in vain. That you will feel every spec of the loss, but that it will not define you. Your life is not over no matter how dark the winter feels.
Light is on its way. You have to be ready for it. Feel, feel, feel. Grieve. So that one day you can embrace it without falling apart. That the glittered grief can’t tear you weary tendons with one smell, glance, or call.
Maybe it will even remind you of your resilience. Your voracious will.
It is within you. I promise. The fog will clear. The season will pass. The tears will dry. You will find the light.
You will be the light.
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