Sunday, February 20, 2011

I never knew, before

There is a kind of grief I never tasted until last night. Though not without cause, it is without reason. It comes in waves, crashing and then receding, only to crash again later and recede yet again.

This grief, intense and deep, cannot be "talked out" or "Talked through." There is nothing you can say that can dissipate it. It's there, and, without reason, cannot be reasoned out of. No amount of logic, no matter how true, can ease the intensity of it or make it go away.

There are no words to define this grief, no way to answer, "Why are you crying?" because none of the little whys add up to the sum of the depth of the feeling. Nothing can truly explain it. It's just there, being experienced separate from thought, reason, logic. Born of love and tragedy, there are no words for it, no words to guide you through it, no words to wash it away.

And it's not something you want to talk about to someone who doesn't already know, even though it cries out for the comfort of mourning with someone who DOES know. It is grief that seeks companionship, to mourn together with someone else who is mourning, to lean on each other. Not just companionship--love. Family. Not merely a shoulder to cry on, but a heart to hold and be held by without having to explain why you are crying, since it cannot be explained.

It is also grief that seeks to be alone. To not have to speak. To not have to listen or explain. Just to sit and...(and there it is, the value of art and music and poetry) be alone with art, which is also something that is best understood outside thought.

It is outside the realm of words, outside the realm of comprehension, and can only be experienced. Felt.

And then she did not die. Not then. Not when we expected, when the plug was pulled. She still might, but not yet. Not today.

So the grief is gone, replaced with hope.

But having tasted it, just for a night, I will never be quite the same again.

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