Grief Is a Fickle Bitch

She throws the worst surprise parties.
I mean, you have to give her credit–she knows how to ambush.
But, all tears and no cake do not a happy party make.

Grief is emotional herpes.
The first outbreak is terrible. You’ll never forget it.
As time passes, the outbreaks lessen.
Though, you might need a pill to keep them at bay.

Grief is a thing you must experience when you face loss.
But, no one can tell you what exactly grief is, or how to do it properly.
Grief is not a feeling. (“How are you today?” Alright, I’m just a little grief.)
But, grief causes feelings.
Is grief an action? A verb? (“I am grieving.” “I grieve.”)
Such a tiny word that means nothing and everything.

If every action requires an equal and opposite reaction,
then grief is the reaction to loss.
It is the thunderous blowback from a sudden absence in space and time.

Grief is a many-tentacled beastie who trolls the murky depths of your subconscious.
If it surfaces, watch out and hit the deck!

Grief is Death’s bedfellow–
a sultry seductress who enters the hospital room at Death’s side.
He aims for his target, and she claims those left behind.
Her silk-gloved finger lovingly traces the tears as they fall down your cheek.

Grief is a greedy, hungry creature.
It gluts itself on your many losses.
Death, in its literal form, is not enough.
It sucks the marrow from all the little deaths.
The divorce, the dreams diminished, the woulds¬†and shoulds all make for Grief’s buffet.

Inevitably, eventually Grief retreats from whence it came.
You share a nod and a smile, knowing you’ll meet again.

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