I’ve been retreating further into myself the last couple of weeks. My body is clamped tight around wounds, memories I fear facing. I can’t write them. I can’t speak them. My throat clogs up and I can’t breathe. I can’t go there because I feel like running away. I want to run and cry and scream, and yet I've kept silent.
I remember my dad in his coffin. That’s how far I can go. I can brush that memory very lightly. How lonely I felt, confused even.
He couldn’t be dead. He had left me alone when he promised he never would.
My sister small and thin, her face bruised blue from drowning. My mom pale and still. I touched her face and jerked away, startled by the iciness of her skin.
It's hard to speak or remember these things, and yet I want to. I want to dig them up and pour them into the light. My body hurts, everything aching with the weight of my grief still not fully released.
I thought I had gotten far on my journey but there’s still some way to go. I’m facing my bleeding heart, the tears pressed tight in my throat. I’m finding my voice.
I want to step outside, arms spread wide, face towards the sun. Drink in dazzling rainbow light and breathe joy. I want to embrace life fully. I've been too long in the dark. I want to be free and spread my wings at last.
There’s so much love in my past, as well as pain. I want to embrace all of it and let it go. Love never goes away. We love people long after we've been left alone to grieve. I’ll never forget my parents, my sister. But I want to breathe freely again and feel light on my feet. First I must face those memories and I’m starting by writing them here. Tiny drips makes a river. I'll write as things come to me because it hurts too much to hold them tightly in the dark.
I've written more about my process through grief in my book From Darkness to Light. You can receive it by signing up for my newsletter. Thank you for reading :)