Grief

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Grief is not an emotion that will be ignored. It can’t be healed or pushed down or forgotten. Grief raises its ugly head and howls like a mangy old dog that refuses to die. It clutters your dreams with living memories, holding hands with you, reminding you what warm skin felt like just before waking you again to your aloneness. Grief is an unwelcome friend, always by your side, always calling up memories of the one lost, the one missed, the one you would give everything to see and hold again. This is grief and its not going anywhere. I have cried out shame and trauma, rage, and depression but grief has me at a standstill. It says, “No woman. This is where we are.” This IS where we are. I am grieving. I am in the season of grief. I have known love and now I must grieve my love without end. Time will not heal this wound. I will travel new places, find new understanding, know new love, but this love, this grief will always be at my elbow whispering, “Do not forget.”

I love. I see you. You are my heart.

God  bless you,

E

Surrender

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I surrender. My war is fought. I lay down my resistance and pray for mercy. I pray on my knees in the carnage of my lost ambitions, a broken home, smashed family photos, the scent of an uneaten dinner rotting in an oven that will not be warmed again. I surrender this life to my creator, I surrender every hope and dream I’d had for it. I no longer hope for anything other than the momentary peace that comes between sleeping and waking, work and rest. Even in rest I am nagged with the why’s of my life, with the what if’s, the should haves, and the why didn’t I’s. My brain is a prison when I let it run free, fighting the war again and again that I strive everyday to set down and surrender.

So I breathe, I pray, I meditate on my knees and silence the bitter places that would stand up and scream for justice when I already know there is no justice, there is just-his version of events and mine. And so I breath, and count my breaths letting the grief subside until I am strong again and capable of moving on with my half finished life. And I do move on, as the strong do, no matter how shattered. Loss comes and loss goes, grief comes and lingers longest, time will not heal this wound but living well will deaden the sting and I plan to live well. I have trained to live well. I have surrendered my past, am free and fully intend to live so well that I will become a picture postcard of sunshine and gratitude to all the people who have lifted me up and held me tight. You know who you are and a million times, thank you.

I got this-I will keep going-I love you.