Grief has manifested as long stretches of numbness these past few months. I am disconnected from my body, from my emotional mind. I don’t know what keeps us out of our bodies — a protective force? Perhaps my Grief believes I’m on a mission to obliterate it. It’s hiding deep away, fearful of my pulverizing ACTION ACTION that will attempt to drive it out. I try to coax it forward. A gentle Morse Code of meditation, therapy, baths.
I want to meet you, Grief. I want to invite you to sit and stay warm with me. You deserve my attention and care. I know that now.
When Dad died I dove into my job. I worked long hours and tried to exorcise the sadness with achievement. I’m sorry for that.
Grief doesn’t get displaced; it gets buried.
Dear Grief, you need softness. Tea. Slow stretching. You need sleep whenever and however I can get it. How do I open to the kindness you require? Kindness is not one my practiced methods, it’s not well-worn territory for me. I see that you will need more persuading because I have no clue where you live. How deep you’ve gone to hide from me.
This round though, I’ll wait. I’ll try.
To give time, Time.