#4 of a 4 part series
There is a mysterious beauty to grief, magic that casts itself like a glue between the tragic and the hopeful. There is a change that comes with feeling every emotion possible, a change that could never have otherwise emerged. From where I stand I see the path of my change - like a silvery trail left by a snail - weaving its way over canyons of darkness, up mountains of steep terrain. From where I stand I can see the person who started the journey; she’s a different color and a different shape than me, she knows the journey has to begin but has no idea the depths it will take her.
The mysterious nature of grief is that it is never over, never completed, never put down.... and never the same. The woman I see across the canyon believes that her grief will destroy her, it will suffocate and swallow her.
It will be the end of her.
And I want to reach across the void and touch her with my hand, and tell her what I finally know to be true.
Yes. This is the end of you.
And after the terror of stripping away the most familiar, the end is magic. Its a rare and beautiful thing to emerge from great despair and be forged new.
