Since Eve died and was born, I have often found myself wondering -- am I doing this dance of grief properly? Is this right?
I hear other bereaved women asking themselves the same thing. And I am coming to realize more and more that there is no "right way," just as there is no "getting over it." There is no out, only through.
I am slogging through, as best I can.
But what is grief?
Grief is feeling nothing.
Grief is feeling everything.
Grief crumbles and grief builds.
Grief is anger.
Grief is evidence that you loved what was lost.
Grief is healthy.
Grief is more painful than you could imagine, before grief came into your life.
Grief is terrifying.
Grief is recovering from amputation of the soul.
Grief is a part of you dying. A large part. An important part.
Grief is the birth of the person you are becoming. A different person. A better person.
Grief is long.
Grief is a seemingly endless marathon of sleepless nights, even after months have passed.
Grief is exhausting.
Grief can be traumatic.
Grief is life-altering, permanent.
Grief is waiting.
Grief is patience.
Grief is wondering if you will ever again feel as happy as you look in pictures, even photos taken now, in the midst of it all.
Grief is hard.
Grief is ever-changing.
Grief is learning a new way to trust God, and yourself, and others.
Grief is suffocating.
Grief is freeing.
Grief is a seemingly unending free fall without a parachute.
Grief is learning what's important, really.
Grief is lonely.
Grief is intimate, and grief is close.
Grief is not a mental illness.
Grief can be a gift.
Grief shows us a new way to pray, a new way to connect with the God who grieved His Son's death.
Grief is ugly.
Grief is beautiful.
Grief both requires and cultivates courage and endurance.
Grief can contain joy, and can lead to joy.
Grief is feeling fragile, feeling like you are walking around with your skin torn all off.
Grief is everything, and grief is nothing.
Grief is love.
What is grief to you?