As I try to leave my grief behind, just for a night, it clings to me like a shadow, refusing to let go. "You can’t leave me behind," it whispers. My heart aches, exhausted by its weight; sometimes, it's simply too much to bear. But Grief only sighs and replies, “I am a part of you now.” It feels unfair, a darkness that follows me everywhere, refusing to release its grip. "Why are you doing this to me?" I plead, desperate for some reprieve. But Grief shifts, offering an unexpected perspective. "I’m here because of love," it says, softening in tone. I want to reject this, thinking Grief exists because I’ve lost my loved one. Yet, even through my sorrow, love is still there, undeniably alive within me.
Grief isn’t the absence of love, it explains, but the enduring presence of it. "You just renamed me," it whispers. "I am Love, the love you still hold." My defenses falter, but I confess the pain—the empty chairs, the lost plans, the silence where laughter once lived. It feels unbearable. But Grief, now Love, gently insists, "Running from me only makes it harder. Sit with me. I am the love you still have to give, the light you carry forward." Fear has kept me distant, afraid of the reminders, the reality. Yet, Love promises that with time, each memory will not sting but shine with warmth, bringing smiles through tears.
“Think of me as the love you carry," Love urges, "not as a burden, but as a light—a candle within you. I remain because your love remains, and together, we carry on until you’re reunited.” So, in the quiet of that night, I hold this candle, realizing that my grief, this love, is a gift—a way to hold them close, until the very last of days.
And, I began loving again, with all my heart.
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