There’s something very comforting about waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain falling. That was the case last night.
“Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.” – Langston Hughes
Late yesterday I moved the big pots in the middle of my patio up toward the patio doors close to the fence. The heat was just too much for them.
I got tired around suppertime and left the rest of it to do later.
I have learned with gardening that you let the plants tell you what they need. I let that be my “garden whisperer.” You just watch and listen.
It is similar to grieving I suppose. No two people will grieve the same way. You take your cues from the emotions swelling inside you. From the memories that are all you have left.
I don’t know exactly what stage of grieving I’m in, according to the experts who have studied this subject. But I still find myself in a semi-stage of disbelief.
“I should know enough about loss to realize that you never really stop missing someone-you just learn to live around the huge gaping hole of their absence.” –Alyson Noel, Evermore
That first week, I was so stunned by it all. What I had to make myself do. It all happened so fast (as death often does) and I was in shock as much as anything.
Those last 24 hours, when I knew I was going to have to let her go, I made myself keep it all inside and just tend to her. I did not want her last day to be fraught with emotion. I just wanted my baby to be as comfortable as I could make her.
Knowing full well as the hours passed that it was leading us to the end of her life. How much worse can it get than watching the clock tick toward goodbye?
I haven’t found a way to make peace with it. To accept it.
I loved Abi so very much. Now what do I do with that love? That love that was nurtured for almost 12 years.
Where do I put it? What compartment do I zip those emotions into?
There is no box to put it in and store it away. You can’t pack all the memories, put a stamp on it, and send it some place else.
One of the toughest things about grief is that there’s no getting away from it. There’s no putting a period at the end of a sentence and filing it away in a folder.
It is part of you when you go to bed and still part of you when you wake up. It is there with you with every breath you take.
I don’t think grief is a train you are forced to board and when you arrive at a destination you will finally disembark.
I think grief is the destination. And it will follow you wherever you go.
I was so naive to think that after a month or so, it would get better. Now I understand that it isn’t within my control and never will be.
It is not something that you can will or wish away. You just have to let the waves carry you, and maybe one day you will see the shore.
I realize now that that’s all you can really expect.
You have to listen to what your mind and body is telling you. You have to keep going because what else can you do?
Oh, it is so quiet outside. The tree branches overhanging my patio are almost completely still. I see the rain droplets gathered on the leaves, suspended for a moment, waiting to fall.