Tuck my Grief into Bed

My grief is like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum. After a long day, she has grown tired and weary. Her ice blue eyes big with fright. There is no denying that losing you nearly destroyed me.

My sweet grief kicked her feet and threw her hands up in the air. An act of utter defiance for what she had been put through in this life. In my silence, she quietly asked why.

She stomped her foot, indignation flowed within her. I recognized the fury in her gaze. For I too felt it. The warm burning rage of answered questions and remorse.

Instead of chastising her harshly, I knelt down at her feet. She had lived a thousand lifetimes in one day.

In the broad sunlight, she walked barefoot through a dark forest. Sweet grief had heard the haunting silence of the birds in the treetops. A quick warning before the screech of the hawk in battle for sustenance. And the last breath of the mouse within the talons of might.

She witnessed the battle within the war of our mind and heart. My grief had fought to help us survive. As her lip quivered, I reached for her but pulled back. Would she want me still after making her suffer so, I wondered?

Without thinking, I let my hand rest on her tiny shoulder in comfort. Her strong shoulders carrying both our burden. She rested her head against my chest and caught her breath. She didn’t tremble but I did.

I gathered dear grief up in my arms. She fought me hard, not wanting to relent. Not ready to let go. This act was too scary, even though she had witnessed death and rebirth over and over again until you were gone.

She howled at the moon, awakening the night terror within me. Even after all these years, I fought to be her constant protector. As the heat within the home circulated through the vents, she and I began our climb.

The creaking floorboards announced our movement as we walked up the stairs to her bed. We passed by pictures of our life. People loved and lost, experiences wanted and wasted. Even so, we clung to each other awaiting release.

In the moonlight, I kissed the cheek of my grief and whispered, “You will be all right. I’ve got you.”

Eventually, her sharp breathing released. We both relented against the pain and torment within and once withheld. As night crept in, she held onto my shoulders tightly, this was our start. A swift beginning to letting go.

Sweet grief clung tightly to my warmth. She smelled just like your old perfume. The one I inhaled while holding you tenderly as we said goodbye. I pulled down the covers of her bed. The crisp sheets felt as smooth as our connection. The colors of white and light pink engulfed her. The pillow under her head settled, just as my heart did.

My grief nestled into the thick covers, cloaked in peace and my protection. As the owl communicated outside, we both let go. Too nervous for the next step. We didn’t have to think of that, not till the morning.

For now, she slept soundly, a few sighs of relief exited her body.

I smoothed back her wild curly hair. As she slept sound, I bent down, and brushed my lips on her cold forehead and stared in wonder.

I both created and accepted this grief as mine. Here, in the four-poster bed where you slipped away, both grief and I slept sound. The stillness of peace flowing between our entwined hands.