for Ann.

I love you grievers

you who reveal to near strangers your deepest wailing. at first, because you have to. because it cannot be contained. because it is the truest expression of you. you who have never been more you while feeling so completely foreign and unknown to yourself

you who continue to reveal your deepest wailing after it is no longer inevitable. after you have come to find the sliver of self-control that can keep it under wraps. but you don’t anymore.

I love you grievers who keep revealing yourself anyway

I love you grievers

you who are angry. who look to the heavens and condemn the god you don’t believe in. who are willing to look the Father in the eye and say Fuck You! Fuck You for leaving me here with this. for taking my beloved. the one I cannot live without and then watch me as I flounder and flail and nearly die from it myself. Fuck you.

you who are angry at other people for no other reason except that all of their beloveds are still alive. angry because other people get to keep their babies and husbands and mothers and brothers and you have to do this shit alone know. more than just alone. without.

you who walk through your days scorned and bitter and angry and resentful and fucking terrified.

I love you grievers who talk about it, who tell me, even though we shoudl not feel such things, let alone say them out loud. even though we all do.

I love you grievers.

you who laugh. who laugh at the absurdity. the unfairness. this ridiculousness. you who hear what you are saying, who see for a second what you have been feeling as it moves outside of yourself and throw your head back and laugh. you who have been crying for hours and days and weeks and months and then find the smallest upturn on the sides of your mouth, the contraction of the laughing diaphram, the sparkle in your eye for a even just a moment and who let it come. you who find and feel the slightest moment of joy, even though  it is completely unrecognizable to you anymore.

I love you grievers who laugh.

I love you grievers.

you who are terrified. who don’t know how to make it in this world anymore. who once had sureity and now fear ever corner, ever turn, every step.

I love you grievers who round each corner, make every turn, tack each step anyway.

I love you grievers.

you who feel absolutely, 100%, undeniably alone. misunderstood. isolated. hurt by well intentioned words. loved ones who make it worse. who say “at least” and “but” and try to silver lining this shit away. you who are alone in your grief even when surrounded by people who understand. you who are alone in your grief even when surrounded by people who you’d never imagined would every be lonely with. you who can no longer find your place here.

I love you grievers who have never felt so alone.

I love you grievers.

you who are ashamed. ashamed for all of this. that you couldn’t save your baby. that you didn’t pick up the phone the last time your brother called you. that you see know how you took your husband for granted. that only if you had been kinder to your mother.

you who are ashamed for all of this. for your wailing because we are not to wail and certainly not in front of each other. for your anger because it is unwarranted and we should be grateful and relieved for the lack of suffering in others. for your laughter and the guilt that quickly follows, the fear that it is taking you farther away from your beloved who is gone. for your loneliness, for the changing nature of your relationships, for the inevitability of more and more loss and how it is routinely overlooked and then feels wrong.

I love you grievers who are ashamed.

I love you grievers.

you who hate people telling you are “strong” and “brave”. you who want to punch other people in the face. you who seethe at mere existence. you who no longer recognize yourself for these and a million other reasons.

you who can make no fucking sense of anything and any more. who cannot celebrate birthdays or new years or the gift of another day. you who want to puke at such cliche. you who’s darkness will not be honored. you surrounded by a world that is not mourning. except that it’s worse: it is mourning but just not showing up to it. not like you are.

not like you are

not like you who are learning these lessons that are bullshit. who are getting stronger even though you were strong enough. not like you who begin to see some gifts in this fucking mire. not like you who slowly allow joy to creep in again. who begin to feel grateful. who find the new version of yourself that you never wanted but that you possibly might like even more. you who just keep on going until the blood starts flowing again, until the tinlge of being alive returns to just beneath your skin. until you find your tribe. and feel less alone. and laugh more even though it’s often bitter. and find beauty in places you never would have even noticed.

I love you grievers. not like you are. exactly as you are.