Grief doesn't just go away. It doesn't stop...at least, it hasn't so far. I don't expect it to ever fully leave, really. How could it? How could something that massive ever vanish completely? It's been almost a year and five months, now. A long time but not. Enough time so that I can get up and function without living in that constant haze. Enough so that my body no longer hurts and I can talk about it openly with anyone. Many parts of life have returned, but the loss will always be in the background and I will always be keenly aware of how I've been changed forever. Even on a seemingly normal day, it can sneak in and without warning, I'm a shuddering, sobbing mess in the shower or at my computer or wherever I happen to be where no one's watching. At least breaking down in front of people no longer happens. But even in solitude, when it hits, it hits hard. The memory of saying goodbye, of standing over his corpse, of watching his casket go into the ground...it will always haunt the back of my mind as will his ever-looming absence. I know he's gone. I watched him dying and then I saw him dead. Still, on some days, it crashes down as if it was something I hadn't been fully aware of before that moment. George is dead. My baby brother is dead.
Do I dwell on it every day? No. It's there as a constant but I'm not actively suffering on a continuous basis as I was for the first few months. To let the sorrow swallow me whole would be the wrong thing to do and George would not approve. I would not approve. There are things happening that are to be celebrated. Even with the loss of George and then my most loyal companion of nineteen years only a month or so ago, there are gifts coming that I can't ignore. It's a strange place to be...somewhere between life and death, watching spirits leave while others come in. I was still almost mad with grief when I found out I was pregnant, despite being able to laugh and continue. It was bizarre. Even more strange was holding my precious Phoenix and feeling her die as new life was literally stirring within me. Yes, it's definitely where I am...between life and death and the view is indescribable.
Does it “get better”? No. No, it never gets better. To think that it ever would just seems wrong. “It” does not get better, I just get better at living with it. I get better at taking the good things that were left for me. I get better at giving it meaning. That's where things get twisted, I think. People expect to find some sort of meaning behind these tragedies. Maybe there is meaning but I'm not one to sit around and wait for it. Instead, I choose the meaning. It's my grief, my tragedy, I own it. MY meaning. Each of us harbors the power of creation. We create when we speak, think, act. We can create meaning, too. To some, this might seem strange or daunting, but I find comfort in it. George and Phoenix's deaths were out of my control but the meaning is something that I have full power over and I have chosen to learn some incredible things. Do I like it this way? No. I want my brother back. I want my cat to sleep purring behind my head. I want to hear another “Just So” story from Can'ma. It's not going to happen, though. That part is over. This is the part where I grab the colors of my universe and shape them into pictures with meaning. I do it for me and I do it for them. I hope they're watching and I hope it makes them proud.
We all have our own “language of grief”. This is mine and I choose to speak it.
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