I made that up (the quote above). I posted it on Facebook. Most everyone is talking about the football play-offs, posting photos of themselves in their team’s uniform. I want to talk about death. But it is a conversation I have to have with myself. Grief is an inner dialogue — a language that deciphers itself as you move through its waves. The surf pounds upon my back as I enter the turbulent sea. I allow myself to be afraid, to be sad, to be upset, to be calm. There are many colors in this ocean as I swim in this sea.
I am in the deep end of the ocean of grief. I have my floaties on my arms.The heaviness of my heart is what weighs me down. I know I need to be at peace about my mother’s death, but I am filled with a sense of finality that I didn’t experience in the last three weeks.
I had a moment where I looked at a Christmas decoration she gave me a long time ago (a door hanger with four blocks sewn in vertically that spell out N – O – E – L. A bell rings every time you open the door). Staring at this artifact made me realize how permanent her death is, in my world. People tell me I will feel her presence. I don’t. I believe she is in Heaven watching over me, at peace and in the true light of Heaven. I am in the shadows down below.
I miss her. I miss hearing her voice and I want to desperately call her and hear her voice in measurable audible tones. Instead I listen deeply inside myself as grief speaks its foreign language.