
Even if people are around us, even if people care and listen, even if people do everything loving and supportive, grief is still a walk alone.
No one will be able to understand our attachment to our loss.
The meaning.
The implications.
The way our brain will remember
And wake us up with memories and triggers and anniversaries and holidays and death days and days we remember because they brought us joy and happiness and days we misplace something and only they know where it is and days we just need them because we need them.
That’s on our walk, to revisit.
To relive.
To remember.
And, we keep going.
At our own pace.
In our own time.
Carrying the meaning in our pockets, grasping for dear life, the memories we are anxious not to forget.
Sometimes, people join us, if they like us enough.
Sometimes, people leave us along the way.
It’s our journey, grief.
A road with no end
Where we carry our raw wounds and rumination, regret and revelations.
Our yearning, our sadness, our denials.
We rest when we must and we live when our name is called.
And then, we go back to our walk …
to find life again in fits and bursts.
To find joy and laughter
In the moments between longings.
In our own time and in our own way, we walk.
But, oh, can it be lonely.
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