The depth of our grief is really the expression of our love. Tonight, the depth is bottomless...endless... and overpowering. I feel like I'm clinging to the edge of my sanity tonight, and the grief is winning.
Who am I, without these strong women in my life? Who am I, without the man I thought was the love of my life? Who am I, childless and alone? Who am I, music blaring against empty walls in vain effort to fill this space—this gaping, wide open space that echoes back at me, a mirror to my pain?
It’s everywhere—in every breath, every sob, every word—I am a lost child, wandering in a black forest. I have shrunken back down to my four year-old self, unable to guide myself out of this darkness, and so, here I sit—paralyzed with pain, the intensity and depths of which I have never before experienced. I wish I could pull my heart right out of my body, because I think that might hurt less than what I'm feeling right now.
I am lost, afraid, and alone.
This is a perfect time to call on God. Or all of the spirits that I know are constantly around me. Or all of the above. It’s a prime moment to ask for guidance and help, yet God feels so far away.
I know that’s my own ego, getting in the way of my faith…
This grief makes me weak. So, so weak. I can barely lift my arms, let alone my head. My body is just here… existing in a slump, my eyes heavy and sad, my heart firmly rooted in the pit of my stomach, my legs useless extensions, and my will completely defeated.
My story is written all over me.
Perhaps one day, my story will be one that’s uplifting and hopeful, inspiring and full.
But tonight, I find myself wondering why I am still here…
(No, I am not going to do anything stupid... and yes, I know that everything is temporary, including feelings like what I've express here tonight...)