All these years I fell
for the great palace lie that grief should be gotten over as quickly as
possible and as privately. But what I've discovered since is that lifelong fear
of grief keeps us in a barren, isolated place and that only grieving can heal grief;
the passage of time will lessen the acuteness, but time alone, without the
direct experience of grief, will not heal it. [Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith]
Grief is a slippery sucker. It can come out of nowhere as
easily as it can sit on my bed and steal all the Light. It takes my breath away
and leaves me feeling I’ll float away in it. Forever and ever. Amen.
What I’m learning Now is that Grief is also a BEautimous
gift. Whether it comes in a HUGE box with ribbons and bows or from the
bottom-most place in a box of cereal in the waxed-paper crinkles. Grief doesn’t
scare me anymore.
The pleasure of
remembering had been taken from me, because there was no longer anyone to
remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory
itself, as if the things we'd done were less real and important than they had
been hours before. [John Green, The Fault in Our Stars]
Feelings aren’t facts.
I love you, Currie
