Heavy
That time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying
I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,
as well as friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,
was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel,
(brave even among lions),
"It's not the weight you carry
but how you carry it -
books, bricks, grief -
it's all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it
when you cannot, and would not,
put it down."
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?
Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?
How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe
also troubled -
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?
- Mary Oliver
I chose to share this poem because frankly I don't even know how to process all of this, and I think that it says a lot of things I would say/wish I could say/hope I will be able to say in the future. All I'm really able to articulate right now is that the last time I saw my grandpa, I appreciated his company more than I had in a long time. In my years of burgeoning adulthood I hadn't seen him much and had conflicting feelings about my perceptions of how well he and I would get along as adults. But something was different the last time I saw him; maybe he was warmer, maybe I was more open-hearted, but either way I noticed a change in the dynamic that was positive and something I was looking forward to experiencing more of. It's such a hard-to-grasp and deeply saddening thought that I won't be able to, but I'm glad that I at least was able to have a very positive last interaction with him in addition to so many childhood memories. My thoughts are with anyone else grappling with the confusion, genuine shock, and profound sadness that I'm feeling today.