I haven't visited this place of solace and retreat, weaning myself from it, trying to offer a witness that grief can be borne....
Surely, a person can bear it, can endure it, can persevere inspite of the deepest kind of loss - we can; we do.
It's the days when Grief outwits each and every coping mechanism we utilize and causes us to sit - as if I were in timeout for breaking a rule. I didn't, yet I remain broken and sitting. It's a requirement I think - to have to sit with Grief once she has inhabited your heart. I am there at the feet of learned sage who sits easing against the creaking wood of a centuries old rocker and pressing against the wooden porch of a house that is not mine, but is not strange to me. I peer not into her face, but watch the horizon of my life in painted skies.
Looking back, I can see Grief's shadow following me, poking at me, pressing against the cracked sides of my soul. I should have wrestled and rested and wrestled sooner, but my lands I wanted not to return to this.
Return I do, more of my days thinking about Taylor, a 20 year old fireball taken too soon at the hands of a drunk driver, a lost soul...
more of my days thinking of the driver's own children and their loss at their mother's imprisonment... at her loss of her the day to day lives of her children...
more of my days perpetually walking around the empty space Taylor's death leaves...
more of my tears welling up at the brink of my eyes only to fall silently inside me....
We wanted more.
Nestled against the feet of my sagacious companion, in the magic of the sunset, I see the reds of my anger as I rail against a loving God; I see the brilliant golds of precious memories, the soft, subtle hues of a mother's love. I see the irreverent rebel in each vibrant orange, and in each cast of twilight following storm or the brightest of days -I see a God who is always, always present.
In my anger
In my prayer
in my days
in my nights
in my work
in my marriage
in my son
in my silent tears
As I journeyed here, this song crossed my path, opened my wound, allowed me to cry, and reminded me...
he is always, always present.