It Is True

The shuttling of Grief

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Unsplash

It is true that Grief still sleeps in my bed with me,
that it snuggles up beside me, inside me, and stays the night.
It wakes me every once in a while,
shaking tears from my eyes,
asking for the pain — the breath — to be released,
before settling back beneath the sheets.

It is true that Grief wakes with me in the morning,
gently entering my body, my memories, my eyes;
showing me the new day and the possibilities before me,
while reminding me of what I have left behind in my sleep.
What I left behind yesterday,
and the day before, and the day before that.

It is true that Grief joins me at the breakfast counter,
seeping into my tea, onto my plate, my journal, my pen,
begging me to write its aching story
so others may know its presence, its weight,
how it sometimes lets me lead,
and sometimes carries me through the day.

It is true that Grief hops into the passenger seat,
buckling in for what it plans to be a long, long journey,
turning on the music of a memory that shifts the moisture in my eyes
into tears on my face,
while it hums and holds the memories as a map for the day,
and the next, and the next after that.

It is true that Grief walks into therapy with me,
sitting, sometimes shifting, but mostly hiding.
Searching for safety in the space
before spilling out,
before showing its face
in all the loss and transition, in all the deaths
of self and others
in the moment of that day.

It is true that Grief joins me when I meet my friends,
taking every step I do.
Standing, blending, moving, pausing.
It never leaves my side,
like a frightened child or a hired bodyguard,
always wanting, always on duty.

It is true that Grief is here now
with me,
with you,
with us.

Can you see it?
Because it is true — Grief is here.

I am with Grief,
and Grief is with me.

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This piece emerged during a shuttle writing practice using the prompt ‘It is true’.