Love is not some kind of victory march, no. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah. -Leonard Cohen
I read once that if you simply cannot understand why someone is grieving so much and for so long then you should consider yourself fortunate you do not understand.
I feel like I have been grieving for years. I have no concept of what life is like without it. It is as present within me as my heartbeat. Grief is the most consistent feeling I feel-minute after minute, day after day. It is a part of me. Forever now.
It almost feels like a comfort. The one constant in my life. The one guarantee that I have, my grief. And in many ways how incredibly lucky am I to feel it, to have loved so deeply and so purely that it has turned into ever present grief? It’s as if grief is the last act of love I have to give.
Grief often feels like my heart breaking over and over again. Sometimes exploding and shattering. Sometimes cracking quietly, but always breaking. Always reminding me it is there. I’ve learned to embrace it, often leaning into it. I recognize that where there is immense grief there is also immense love.
It’s become a new way of seeing for me. It is not something I can heal from. I must accept it, endure it, even trust in it.
I am living proof that a broken heart can still beat.
Grief is a part of me. Not all of me. Love, love is what has all of me.
For My Mama 