You move on. You never move on. You move on.
I’m all out of faith
This is how I feel
I’m cold and I am shamed
Lying naked on the floor
This is how I feel. How I felt less than two years ago. I met grief. Grief was ugly, she was mean, she hooked her claws deep into my flesh and would not let me go. I fell for her, clung to her and thought her my constant companion when I woke, in not sleeping, waiting on the corner and in my dreams. My waking dreams, my sleepless dreams.
Hearing of dear friends thrust into the void of black grief recently, became my tipping point. Grief is leaving me for another. And another. She is fickle that way. She has a new found a new host.
Though I wish her company on no other, I am glad of her release. She tired me out.
In twelve months I lost five dear people, fled my home and faced divorce. The three definitive marks of grief. It is only in the knowing that others have faced the same, that grief is new and confusing, and that for some, loss and grief goes into hiding only to surface years later that I know she is leaving me. My friends cannot talk, cannot face the ordinary of other’s lives, platitudes, offers of help and in that I am reminded of my own situation past. For I have begun to find the other goddess, Hope.
But I am changed. I think of another, who only now is beginning to deal with the reality of a miscarriage and has made it her business to be honest about it and in doing so, help others. She went back to grief to remember and through her medium, is healing.
Grief is common place in our lives now. Some more than others, but we are going to be grieving for parents who cannot wait to die, who die, who don’t remember us, and in this process rips us back to childhood. We witness friends with terminal illness, lose the laughter, face being alone. We let our children go. We have nothing to fill our lives now seemingly redundant for purpose or direction. Our relationships change and grief steps in. Innocence has all grown up.
Grief has a best friend called Fear.
I don’t like her. She, like grief, is mean. A bully. She reduces and together they gang up on us.
I cannot remember ever being so afraid. And lost. Under attack with no battle plan. But it is only now, when the victims are fresh that I realise my time with grief and fear is waning. Hope is thicker than blood.
Hope waits until Grief and Fear have played the game. She is the wing clipper of grief. She is the honest drug.
I have made friends with Hope.
To all who are snarled with the tendrils of Grief, tied with the bondage of Fear, it is tonight, that I can say, my affair with Grief is over … you may not see Hope, but she is waiting in the wings with wings of her own for you. She will cover your nakedness and lift you from the floor. And you will move on … promise.
Image getty. Lyrics ‘Torn’ by Natalie Imbruglia