Good Grief

Kenny slipped away while in my arms and the feeling of surrealness has yet to dissipate, though with each day, reality begins resonating. His departure culminated my entire family’s passing within 40 months. I search deep within to find my footing. I know it exists. But it appears too rocky to steady myself. The stream of grief leaves me shaky, off centered, and the imbalance creates a disconnect from the world. I don’t recognize the world most days. I sense it’s unfamiliar with who I have become now. Before the world perfumed with sanctity, sameness, and saneness. All the accoutrements of our perfectly imperfect home. It counter-balanced the remnants of dysfunction, recklessness, and inhumanness stained by the inevitability of life. But being left behind can wipe away such sweetness and leave one drenched in orphaned delusion. I feel unsettled and disconnected to this world. The severing of the familial umbilical cord.  As sure as water is wet and evil intentions rear themselves before grass grows on fresh graves, the trying of my soul confirms the gloom within the world.  

The darkness in the world is eager to pounce as soon as daylight’s protection is lost. The world hears my cry from the loss of life and refuses to relent. Rather, it gathers all might with customary sting and stench and beats me ruthlessly. Awakening me to the cruel reality of that which I am becoming utterly familiar. They are gone… all gone. 

I never had the chance to grieve my older brother Stan. I was too busy tending to the ills of Momma, Kenny, and even Dad. So, when our collective hearts broke on Valentine’s Day when Momma transitioned, fourteen months after Stan’s passing, the depth of pain created a hurt that still ceases to give way for the loss of anyone else. I am keenly aware I’m likely not close to dealing with Dad’s death. Kenny’s troubles wouldn’t allow room for it. Now, he’s gone too. But I’m still stuck on Momma. Yet these tears I cry carry all their names. It’s all so complicated and convoluted. Messy.

Nevertheless, I awaken daily and steady myself. Determined. The world has shaken me long enough. When I open my eyes to the brightness of the day’s offering, the world watches me in disbelief. You still here? Thinking the worst of what I’ve encountered should have been plenty to carry me clear out of here. And likely it would have. But the world clearly hadn’t been aware - I don’t have regular grief, like it believes it’s given me. I got good grief instead. 

My grief, unbelievably raw, and downright gut wrenching, isn’t destitute.  Though the depths of grief befall me, I’m not left helplessly despondent as the world intends. Believing the methodical plucking of my intimate connections would leave me permanently disconnected? Thinking I was unaware, or at best uniformed? It failed to realize there is peace in its valley for me, a hope given that springs forth life. There is a bright side somewhere that more than counters darkness. It proves to eradicate it.  And through it all, there is a promised purpose for my pain, serving to illuminate the pathway for others to share in the goodness grief has to offer.