What is there to say about grief?
Grief is a tidal wave that overtakes you, smashes you up into its darkness, where you tumble and crash against unidentifiable surfaces, only to be thrown out on an unknown beach, bruised, reshaped.
Grief means not being able to read more than two sentences at a time. It is walking into rooms with intention that suddenly vanishes.
Grief is three-o’ clock-in-the-morning sweats that wont stop. It is dreadful Sundays, and Mondays that are no better. It makes you look for a face in a crowd, knowing full well the face we want cannot be found in that crowd.
Grief is utter aloneness that razes the rational mind and makes room for the phantasmagoric. It makes you suddenly get up and leave in the middle of a meeting, without saying a word.
Grief makes what others think of you moot. It shears away the masks of normal life and forces brutal honestly out of your mouth before propriety can stop you. It shoves away friends, scares away so-called friends, and rewrites your address book for you.
Grief makes you laugh at people who cry over spilled milk, right to their faces. It tells the world you are untouchable at the very moment when touch is the only contact that might reach you. It makes lepers out of upstanding citizens.
Grief discriminates against no one. It kills. Maims. And cripples. It is the the ashes from which the phoenix rises, and the mettle of rebirth. It returns life to the living dead. It teaches that there is nothing absolutely true or untrue. It assures the living that we know nothing for certain. It humbles. It shrouds. It blackens. It enlightens.
Grief will make a new person out of you, if it doesn’t kill you in the making.
~Companion Through the Darkness, Stephanie Ericsson
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