I have been sinking in grief a little bit lately.
Because my baby turned two and he should have had one more sister helping him blow out his candles.
Because another mother spent my son’s birthday wishing her’s was here.
And because well, just because, life without one of your children is not the way life should be.
And as much as I love and need to write, I can never find the words to describe exactly what it is like to walk with loss each day.
This mother found them for me…
Alas, I now, finally, understand what it means to grieve. It is not something to take lightly. Not something you quickly move on from.
It is real, and heavy, like a wet wool blanket tossed over your soul. My best friend asked me what it felt like, having to shoulder this burden, this loss. She was not being naive. She wanted to help, to understand.
And the best way to describe this grief is to imagine you are alone in a dark room. In front of you is a candle. All you can see, all you can feel is the light from this candle. This is grief.
For many days, weeks and months, all you can see is the light from this candle. Until one day, the candle is a little farther from your face. The light is not so bright. You can still see the candle, but you can also see other things in this room. The candle is always present. And on good days, the candle is an arms length away. But some mornings, some moments, the candle comes right up to your face, blinding you with it’s light, leaving you unable to see or feel any other thing. Except the damn candle. That is grief.
It is always here, always present. And on good days you can see around the grief, but you never know when the grief is gonna get you. But it always sneaks back in. And you can’t blow out the candle. Ever.
-T. (a bereaved mother)
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