My father-in-law died June 29th, 2012 at 5 am. It is a significant loss. He was a good man. I am in grief. This grief is not an exclusive experience. No, it touches the lingering grief that stays with me from losing my father in 2006, from losing my mother-in-law in 2011, and other smaller losses that have decided to take longer than I have years in me to heal. Grief is cumulative. Below are some raw random thoughts on this grief.
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My thoughts are confused like layers of hurried clouds headed in different directions just before a storm. My emotions are pent up like billowing clouds laden with water, but refusing to rain any of it out. There are lightning stabs; there are thunder starts. And invisible dam defies gravity and holds it all up. It roils and churns looking for a weakness, some way to burst forth.
My soul is pregnant with grief. But there is no relief in giving birth to a tornado. The unpredictable swirl of winds destroys this and has mercy on that and there is no explanation There is no way to know when it will swoop down for a heart crushing appearance.
There is a loneliness in a grief storm that seven billion people can't solve.
There is a numbness so deep that all the pain in the world can't produce a sensation.
There is a pain so deep that a bucket of novocaine can't numb.
There profound awareness of Nothing occupies too much space.
Words scurry away like roaches under the quick midnight kitchen light and meaning runs away with them. They exist, but they cannot be found.
Memories disappear like a power outage.
Hope gasps as its own existence flashes before its eye.
"I want Nothing" is a sick song stuck in the soul.
"I want Nothing" is the ironic state of a grief-smudged life - the more I get of it the less I have.
Running away from grief is like running away from air. It's everywhere and is it required.
Oh, if grief were merely being sad, it would be so easy. It would be understood. It would be unambiguous.
Grief has a Protestant work ethic. It never sleeps and never takes a vacation.
Oh grief, must we become friends?
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My thoughts are confused like layers of hurried clouds headed in different directions just before a storm. My emotions are pent up like billowing clouds laden with water, but refusing to rain any of it out. There are lightning stabs; there are thunder starts. And invisible dam defies gravity and holds it all up. It roils and churns looking for a weakness, some way to burst forth.
My soul is pregnant with grief. But there is no relief in giving birth to a tornado. The unpredictable swirl of winds destroys this and has mercy on that and there is no explanation There is no way to know when it will swoop down for a heart crushing appearance.
There is a loneliness in a grief storm that seven billion people can't solve.
There is a numbness so deep that all the pain in the world can't produce a sensation.
There is a pain so deep that a bucket of novocaine can't numb.
There profound awareness of Nothing occupies too much space.
Words scurry away like roaches under the quick midnight kitchen light and meaning runs away with them. They exist, but they cannot be found.
Memories disappear like a power outage.
Hope gasps as its own existence flashes before its eye.
"I want Nothing" is a sick song stuck in the soul.
"I want Nothing" is the ironic state of a grief-smudged life - the more I get of it the less I have.
Running away from grief is like running away from air. It's everywhere and is it required.
Oh, if grief were merely being sad, it would be so easy. It would be understood. It would be unambiguous.
Grief has a Protestant work ethic. It never sleeps and never takes a vacation.
Oh grief, must we become friends?
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