On the fifth day of grief, my feet are cobblestones, walking ancient paths.

I wonder if part of the grieving process is the other also letting go, a separation, gently, roughly, tenderly, kindly, agonizingly painful separation of paths.

Both stand at a crossroads, and then, how do we let go?

As we gather in connection, I wonder if the one who has passed is beckoning us together, gathering us like flowers into one bouquet and for a time we share a vase, in gathering, a vine.

4 thoughts on “Fifth Day of Grief

  1. Good question! Do both need to let go? How do we let go and also believe that we are connecting in love?
    Your post reminds me of Marion Oliver’s poem on Blackwater Woods-

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I think both need to let go. I felt my father stayed around until my mother was able to join him thirty-six years later. They were eternally tied. Each relationship is different. What I feel now is that a piece of me is going off with my brother, just a piece, and of course his major tie is with his wife, children, and grandchildren.

      I think though as we did with Mitchell, we give them permission to go and we honor their new ways to fly – caterpillar to butterfly – we allow, even encourage their flight, and in that, is even more expansion of the love we all share. There, is Grace!

      Like

  2. Look, the trees
    are turning
    their own bodies
    into pillars

    of light,
    are giving off the rich
    fragrance of cinnamon
    and fulfillment,

    the long tapers
    of cattails
    are bursting and floating away over
    the blue shoulders

    of the ponds,
    and every pond,
    no matter what its
    name is, is

    nameless now.
    Every year
    everything
    I have ever learned

    in my lifetime
    leads back to this: the fires
    and the black river of loss
    whose other side

    is salvation,
    whose meaning
    none of us will ever know.
    To live in this world

    you must be able
    to do three things:
    to love what is mortal;
    to hold it

    against your bones knowing
    your own life depends on it;
    and, when the time comes to let it
    go,
    to let it go.

    Mary Oliver
    In Blackwater Woods

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Elaine,
      This is the most amazing of poems. Yes, she captures it perfectly and beautifully. Yes!
      I think now of the Book of Hours. This is a poem for me to read every hour now for awhile, until I feel a clearer letting go. Right now, my heart is in a push-pull. It’s like flying a kite. I’m not ready to let go of the string and I pull it close and let it out a little bit, and back and forth I go, until one day, the kite floats free.

      Like

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