I don’t mourn well. I don’t know what to do with my hands. If I should say something or remain silent. If it’s okay to laugh at a joke. I don’t know what to do with myself amidst a heavy cloud of grief. Should I just let the tide wash over me and carry me away in a sea of my own tears or put my chin up and keep a stuff upper lip? Should I quietly contemplate the life which was lost? Gorge myself on food, drink, or sex? Take a dose of sleeping draft and let dreams overtake me? Share the grief, the loss, the mourning?
Kind words hold no comfort, not when they issue from my lips or fall on my ears. It is grief, it can’t be patched by a word – whispered or otherwise. It must be felt. Incorporated into ones being. Balancing the hole left by knowing you’ll never see the rosy cheeks or hear the acid wit of a loved one again.
I don’t know how to grieve this loss, but I suppose resistance and confusion are part of my process.