If you live long enough, you will lose someone you love.
I really hate that part.
The thing about death is, you can’t negotiate it. There’s life and then there’s not. There’s life and then there’s nothing. This nothingness feels so hollow. So cruel. So unforgiving. It is always consistent in it’s nothingness.
The loss of my step mother has me considering the rituals surrounding death. We had a very typical funeral. A beautiful ceremony. A gorgeous coffin, my father chose the perfect color which I can only describe as a cross of rose and a soft gold depending on the way the light was shining on it. She didn’t look like herself. Her hair, usually worn in soft curls, was very straight. Her glasses did not rest on her face properly. She didn’t look like she was sleeping. It was good in a way, that her body did not represent her in life. It helped to reinforce the reality that she was no longer with us.
One of my professors described grief like a horizontal spiral. The top of each circle representing anguish and the bottom, relief. But a path between the two exists as we travel along. I find that I am raw. I’m sensitive to triggers. The childhood pain from the loss of my mother is coming up. The impending loss of others I love is coming up. I find I’m not organized. Not motivated yet working like a dog, without reward. I keep losing things and misplacing things. I’m lost.
And this damn sorrow lies just beneath the surface all the time.
There’s no where to go but through it.
Namaste, my friends.