Grief is a funny thing. It hits you when you least expect it. It has the power to topple the strongest person and make the meek bold enough to shout their pain into the the air to be spread across the universe in little drops.
I can spend a lifetime hurting over the things that never were, that never will be. I can spend my years aching when I see a grandfather hug his granddaughter. I can spend each day angry that I never had the grandfather I wanted. Grief makes you feel that way.
Grief invades your thoughts. It has the power to make you weep at the loss of a person who’s laugh filled the air and lingered. It can make you hurt that that is one less laugh you will ever hear. There will be times when it squeezes you so tight, you fear you will never breath again. The air around you, lacking those laughs, can no longer fill your lungs and give you life.
It is sly. It wallows in the shadows of your thoughts. You forget, for a moment, just one. Just one moment and then grief slips into your thoughts, your heart, your stomach, making the world slightly hazing and your soul ache.
The loss of three loved ones in one year feels intolerable. It feels unfair. It feels like the universe is shouting at me, reminding me that our lives are temporary and we never know when they will end. It reminds me that through the anger, the pain, and the neglect, I still love. I wake up each day still loving those around me, even when I can not vocalize it.
Grief is funny. It will twist your soul until you feel you can no longer bare the weight of the air around you. It weighs you down until you no longer think you have the will to move. And it hurts you, weaving sadness and sorry into your thoughts until you can no longer bear to hear the sound of your own voice. And it reminds us. It reminds us that we love more deeply than our minds think we can. It reminds us that life ends all around us, everyday, and it shows us that through pain, through loss and through sorrow, we can find love.