2017-04-22, 10:21 p.m.
Grief, I think, is a curious little thing.
You would think that grief would grind your life to a halt,
That it would howl, with the ferocity of a hurricane, striking you with its winds and rain,
That it would erupt, with the force of a volcano, spewing lava and ash and destruction,
And that it would roar, with the power of waves in a storm, crashing against the shore and engulfing everything in its path.
But no. Grief, it seems, is a curious little thing.
Grief, instead, stays out of life's way,
It's more like a gentle touch, the way light spring rain scattered by the breeze lands on your face,
It's more like a flicker, the way the flame of a candle hovers in the dark,
And it's more like a rustle, the way the tide quietly and constantly brushes up against the beach.
I think I will befriend and keep carrying grief,
Nourishing it with every breath I take,
Sustaining it with the ebb and flow of my soul,
Sitting with it, and together, listen to the rhythm of the silence in the dead of the night.
For yours was a life of grief.
For grief, perhaps, is how I remember.
For grief, indeed, is a curious little thing.
May your soul be at peace and may you continue to give your family the strength they need to carry on with their lives without you. I didn't know you but I do know you raised a fine child whom I was privileged enough to meet and be at the receiving end of his huge heart.. thank you.
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