Last Friday was my last day of leave before going back to “the real world.” Fortunately I have no trepidation about returning to the working world. I am gaining more personal understanding about grief and what it is to me.
My husband took me to see the newest Captain America movie on Friday, which was great fun. He works so hard at providing me relief from my sorrow. About 1/2 way through the movie, if that much, a main character dies. And all of a sudden I was crying. The character was in a hospital with monitors bleeping then not bleeping etc., and all of a sudden grief just did a body slam to me. It was only a brief moment and I was able to “be here, be now” again. But that single moment taught me a great deal about what grief is.
It isn’t a constant sorrow with tears ever present. It isn’t a constant loss of “what am I going to do without you.” It is an indescribable loneliness in the quiet. It is a sudden wave of such intense sadness that the world is suddenly muffled and only the storm is real. For a moment. It is working on a project with all the industriousness of a honey bee then a sudden, complete stop. Pencil above paper, paintbrush held in the air, a holding of my breath as if all the world was in stop-motion. Then the breath comes, the pencil meets the paper once more and the brush caresses the canvas with its colorful gift.
The grief is there. It is deep. It is strong. But I have learned not to fight it. Not to fear it. But to welcome it. For it tells me every moment of life I shared with my beloved twin was precious and worth every moment of pain that follows.
My grief is an honest friend.