Grief comes in the morning, and I can tell before I even open my eyes, before I have a chance to greet the day, that Grief has gotten hold of the spare key and let herself in.
When I awake to find Grief perched on the side of my bed, I no longer try to ignore her because doing so is inconsequential. Everywhere I turn, she is like a child under foot. She won’t leave me until I sit down and cave in on myself. This ‘caving in’ always brings me to a state of reconciliation, but with whom or what, I’m not certain. Yet I consider this visit a privilege that grants me access to two worlds, two states of being.
This morning Grief stayed with me through my morning coffee and two loads of laundry. Now she’s flown away, and I’m left here basking in the full strength of the sun and marveling at how all of nature seems to keep a sure and steady pace; it pushes forward, tunnels through, balances itself… and I’m grateful to be a part of it.