She is there, surrounding me, and I can feel it. Her body, part of it at least, is now held in a glass blown ornament. It’s held in small coins of the same material. The larger figurine, the one with the dragonflies, I hold often. I let it rest in my palm and as I sit and breathe deeply each morning at four o’clock, preparing my lungs and body for the yoga I am about to practice, I talk to her. I tell her how much I miss her and I thank her for her teachings. I thank her for loving me, and sometimes I tell her about my darkness if it happened to visit me during my sleep.
The ornament shows her ash well, and in the right light and angle, it displays the magnificent color of bone fragments. I simultaneously smile and lose my breath as I hold her. Some mornings, I am better at understanding my grief, and that it is a product of my love for her. Other times, I am in disbelief, ravaged in thought, knowing that she is gone. I want one more hug, one more conversation, one more time to hear her southern drawl say, “I love you hun.” That is part of grieving, wanting one more moment in time where we can hold the people we have lost in our arms and tell them how much we love them. However, and this is why I share a part of myself and my thoughts, it is crucial to tell those people how much you care for them while they are still here. Tell them while they sit in front of you. And with that, when they have left and death has taken them, never stop talking to them. Never stop telling them that you love them.
There is no correct way to grieve, at least I have read that often. I agree to some extent, but if someone were to ask me, and they have, “How do I grieve? I am not sure how to do so.” I would tell them to sit alone often, reflecting about the love that person once gave you and how love is something that can never be taken from you no matter the circumstances, so they are still there with you for eternity. I would tell them to accept it fully and try to understand that none of us are getting out of here alive. With that, don’t judge your grief journey when you slip into the madness of wanting them to be alive again. When your heart hurts so much you think it will drain itself of blood. Do not judge when you become angry at the loss and sometimes scream in rage at the heavens or a tree that stands tall above you in the woods. Don’t be critical when you fall to your knees and say their name over and over, or if like me, you have lost your mother and suddenly become the child screaming, “Momma, momma, I need you to come back to me!” over and over. It is also okay to tell stories that make you smile, even if no one else is listening but the wind on a dirt trail.
Grief is another journey in life. One of the most difficult, with thorns ripping at your sides and storms making you run for shelter. It is an ocean with a strong current that pulls you away from people who are standing on the shore watching you drift, sinking in and out of view. It is a mountain that seems daunting and will never be climbed. Grief can also be a magical sunset, leaving you in tears of joy because you got to experience it.
Comments