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life in all its perfection will not leave loss alone. here, in the belly of the beast (america) grief is reserved for gatherings around a wooden box. sometimes a scattering of handfuls of dust, all black and a growing collection of i’m so sorry’s.
but what of the losses that stand no chance against the 9-5? to say i need a breath when our lilac tree lets her purple gems go after two weeks of glory is to admit to a softness in my soul so heinous that you could knock me down just by whispering: we require business attire.
and could i in my gas fueled, screen addicted, plastic wrapped life have the audacity to mourn the losses our children will know deeper than i? is it possible to mourn a history i’ll never know, by how grandma can smile again after her memory fled her mind?
every morning, my crescent faced people say to me, “good morning.” today i only hear, “good mourning.”
because, today i want to give myself permission to wrap my arms around myself and grieve the loss of the belief that life would get easier as a grown up. i say yes to grieving the hope i now toss aside that money is the answer to all my problems. i am here with patience for the time to grieve the relationships that loss their relevancy, necessity and possibility.
to find myself in the place that was once defined by love, belief, and hope, now transformed into unpredictable ground-shaking intervention. striking at times when my silver linings manual got borrowed by a friend. following me into the morning after i thought i’d dutifully shrouded myself in mary jane’s cloak the night before.
grief i see you waiting outside.
i must ask, will you contribute to the building of my home, and the sharing of yourself with my friends made family? if so, I will open the door for you and honor what you bring to my table.