Grief

is present. Has been. Grief has colored this year, continues into the next.  When my grandma died, I spent a year hovering on the underside of happiness, and I remember that now, I know it well, the sense of unable to reach joy because the hurt is deep and powerful and strong and needs to be honored with a full place setting.

Loss: the shape of a relationship, time time time with that person, comfort and a hand to hold in dark moments. A home, another home, another. Patterns. The hope of what a new job might provide. Parents within reach. The hope that a disappeared friend might reach back out. Traditions. More hopes. Control. Heat. Choice. Options. What I most wanted, and most needed.

Grief brings growth, both forced and invited. I am within that. Alone when it most matters to be connected. Angry at the people most dear to me. Trying to find the strength within to feel and express it all, rather than shrink back into dynamics that continue to hurt, rather than pretend to be someone other than me.  I read somewhere recently: "The need for love has more survival value than the need to be genuine. This sacrificing of genuineness in the service of getting love is very painful and crazy-making, but it keeps us alive."  I have been turning that over and over in my mind.