Shades of Grief

People say grief comes in waves, and I have found that to be true—mostly.

I have come to realize it also shows up in flashes of color. One minute your mind is infused with a rosy pink of fond remembrance—loving memories of special moments, laughter shared, those unspeakable bonds formed in shared history, the memories of which are held in the cells of the body, as much as the mind.

Then in the next instant everything can go black with a veil of regret descending. All the things left unsaid and undone, outlined in the darkness by the enshrouding pall of irretrievable time. Only to go bright again in the next minute, blazing back to the sunny days when love and life were young and vibrant, with no hint detectable of what was to come.

Then softening into a bruise colored cloud gathered up in the stunning revelation of how glorious now seems that happy oblivion.

There is no way to be prepared for this phase of life—the losing phase.

I vaguely recall that old ones may have uttered a few words on the subject, in passing. Now I think they did so, not really as a warning, so much as a proclamation of their own astonishment. By then, they understood too well how futile, how impotent, language is in the face of life’s insistent continuity while those who once made up your world fall away, one by one, leaving you a stranger in your own life, walking among the living while still, in your mind, in the company of the dead.

Babies help.

As do faithful dogs, and the incidental consolation found in the warmth of a cat curled on your lap.

Birdsong, starlight, thunderstorms and gardening.
All the mundane things that were a backdrop to the moments once shared, suddenly swell to the forefront, a comfort in their familiarity as you face the days head on, despite the off-color way the world has gone sideways.