We drop through and find ourselves in this peculiar dining room.
There it is on the table, in plentiful amounts suitable for sharing amongst many.
It is served quickly and cold, little attention being paid to presentation or entrance.
It is a dish that rather than nourish, drains of energy, perpetuates sadness and impairs the ability to move forward.
Grief is not palatable.
Grief bypasses the welcome mat of life and enters without invitation, not wiping its feet as it litters the soul, polluting our state of happy.
Grief, unfortunately, is inevitable.
The price we pay for loving, plain and simple, is loss.
Longing for that which will no longer be, missing our departed ones and yearning for what was once ours, is born from the permanent detachment from that which we love unconditionally.
The givens in our lives, once removed, cause this overwhelming feeling of nostalgic sadness from which we don’t anticipate finding an exit.
Grief presents itself as permanent, knowing fully well that it is merely one of the stages of loss.
In order to dispel ourselves of grief, we need to grieve. We need to open our soul to the despair, anger, melancholy and tears that push through our psyche. We have to teeter toward that brink from where we don’t think we will make our way back and we have to remind ourselves of our inexplicable loss until reason makes its way into the equation.
And reason, being what it is, does make its way back into our lives. And reason, reminds us of our strength, reminds of the good and allows us to withstand the pain. Reason eventually allows us to climb out of this perceived abyss.
Routine also helps, but not as much as the realization that our life now continues with a permanent void. It is a void that moves from the human chart of touch and feel, to the list of intangible emotional connections so permanently etched into the fiber of our being. We will always love what or whom was lost, but we will channel our affection via a different channel, more privately and inordinately, more intense.
For now, however, the table is set and the portions of grief have been served. We must sit at the table, partake of the wares and consume this meal of numbness until the feeling returns, until the wound in our soul heals and until the rain outside our window stops.
Till then, we sit at this table, together, and wait for the sun to drop its rays and show us the exit from this rabbit hole.