Old grief
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Old grief,
Grief grown up,
Grief hiding under layers,
Under smiles, laughs, and prayers.
When Grief shows up,
threatening to unravel,
What can one do but give it a shovel.
Bury it deep,
Away, out out sight
Don't let it in,
Don't give it flight,
Shove away the reminders,
Distract, don't reminisce,
For once reawakened
Grief returns with vengeance.
Old grief is the ugliest grief of all, especially over the holidays. It's a chilling realization that you've taken a road of no return. Your destination is unknown.
You can look back over your shoulder, but it won't change where you're headed, and that's away, down the path of time.
I'm nine years and five months away from the last time I held her. Away from the last time I kissed her. Years away from all the firsts without her. Years from the moment the feel of her tiny body in my arms subsided. Despite being surrounded by reminders, I feel like there's nothing left to truly remind me.
Grief doesn't have an expiry date, so old grief whether consciously hidden or unknowingly suppressed has a way of bubbling up to the surface. Mine erupts like a volcano some days, angry, raging lava that threatens to expunge everything in sight.
Other days it's silent, contemplative. Like sitting in front of the Christmas tree, watching the twinkling lights glow, wondering what having a nine year old beside me would feel like.
That's old grief, unpredictable but still there.
Wishing those who are trying to get through the holidays some peace and love. For those whose grief is old, too, how are you? For those whose grief is new, we send still more love and peace out to you.