“Where are you?”
I call out
by this grief.
I know not,
listless; beyond pain,
insensate; behind joy.
an empty moor,
a garden door,
unyielding thorny mass
wound weeping pus
how can I heal;
when it isn’t real?
This poem is about the numbness that is a part of the grieving journey. For the past two years this has been my predominate symptom. The best way I can describe it is that I feel neither sadness nor joy at the memories of my Dad. Furthermore, I feel I can’t really access them. At worst, it is as if I never knew him. My mind has severed all connectivity and it feels uncomfortable and wrong and unnaturally pain-free.
I’ve noticed that as I’ve worked through some other issues the wall weakens and grief pops up for a day at most then nestles back down in its safe, which I don’t know the combination to.
I am both reverent over the workings of my mind and frustrated by it.
Can’t it all just come out and be done with?
I want people to understand that grief is a process that has to be worked through – and experience has taught me that grief is work, extremely hard work; but, if we do the work, it can work for us by enabling us to heal.
Julia Samuel, Grief Works
I imagine my grief playing the role of Mum in the following exchange with my son from earlier today:
Him: Please can I watch Transformers?
Me: No darling.
Me: Because you already watched a film today and that is enough TV time.
Him: But I want to watch it!! Why can’t I?
Me: Because too much TV isn’t good for you.
Him: But I WANT to watch it.
Me: Sometimes you want things that aren’t good for you, but I know what you need better than you do.