Thanks so much for sticking with me for the past few weeks. Ian and I really appreciate all the kind words and good vibes that you’ve been sending our way – they really mean a lot. I know it hasn’t been light around here with the loss of our pet rabbit, but that’s how life is. If I am going to toss around happiness like confetti, then it is only fair I share my sadness, too. I want this to be a real place. I am living a real life. One filled with joy and sorrow and the everyday.
My job is a writer, I feel, is to go to the edge of grief and send back words and pictures. That way, when I am here again, when I am in it (because I will be, because most of us are not so lucky as to only lose things once), the words will be knots on a rope. When I’m in it, those knots will give me some place to hold on to, so I can pull myself back out, hand over hand.
My daughter has a book about a bear hunt, and in it, a family must come up against different obstacles on their path to find a bear. The refrain in the book reads, “We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh-oh! We’ve got to go through it.”
Such is grief, whether it’s a river or a forest or a cave. You can’t go around it. You have to go through it.
And that’s part of writing, part of life, I think. Not to overlook or minimize our pain. You should be allowed to feel your grief. It is valid. It is real. But you have to learn to sit with it, no matter how uncomfortable it is. There is no quick fix. There are tears shed at night, alone in your hotel bed. You grieve so you can remember how to live and how to love. But you have to go through it.
Wishing for easier times. Hoping maybe one day, if you need them, these words can bring you a little comfort, too.