the mysterious power of grief
Yesterday, there were no words to write.
Instead, all the emotions came violently to the surface. I cracked.
Between mournful wails and squeezing tightly into fetal position, the unspoken hurt and the raw desperation spilled out of me like an endless faucet.
A lifetime of pain carried finally giving way, like an avalanche. Sudden, all-encompassing, an impossible force of nature. It only took me about 31 years to start trusting that falling apart won't kill me.
I've been hyper independent for so long that even my previous excursions of trust falls were calculated and minimal. But this time was different, and I realize how little I know of grief, its mysterious compulsion to just fucking let it out. Inhibitions be damned.
You can't logic your way out of everything. Or at least, you shouldn't. But I tried to observe grief from a distance anyways, like caging it up and drafting hypotheses on how to experience it in the most efficient, optimal, and mess-free way.
I'm a fool. But that's okay. We're all fools. Sometimes the purpose of the fool is to be blissfully ignorant. Eventually, experience brings you to a crossroads.
What will you do when you're humbled by life?
Will you allow it to shape you? In what ways?
Do you decide to reject it, abandon the wisdom in order to avoid the pain?
Or perhaps you choose indecision, to remain pending until a later point in time? If that time ever comes, that is.
I shuffle my feet towards the hope of transformation at a slow, agonizing pace.
Please let this grief do what it must. I'm tired of holding onto all this baggage. Actually, I'm exhausted right down to the bone.
Is this how you felt too, Dad?
Thanks for reading.
Love you,
Nadine ♥