The Meaning of Grief

I have survived

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Grief is fear.

Fear is anxiety.

Anxiety is my head running in front of me.

I can’t catch up.

I can’t process the child within begging me to parent her.

I am out of control, ready to fold.

Anxiety is when my bones alone hold my chambers of tendon, organ, blood, water, and flesh up.

I feel the weight of my body for once; it’s crushing me.

It’s when my thoughts become me and have a mind of their own.

I am not the driver, nor the witness; I am the prisoner.

Anxiety: fear manifold.

Grief has many faces of despair and desperation; it’s the sum total of love gone.

Love exits every pore insidiously; I never saw it coming.

Then it hits me all at once.

Loss shows in every new crow's foot and gray hair sprouting.

Loss shows in my immunity dropping and rendering me frail.

The loss of love shows all at once as my soul slowly moves on: proving my body was once animated by the force of heaven, and now it’s nearly an empty vessel.