What I (think I) know about grief is….

It makes you forget. You get lost driving to work. You never know what day it is. You forget your lovers name, just for a second.

What I (think I) know about grief is….

It changes time. You say last week. What you mean is yesterday. An hour holds an eternity. A month moves too quickly to measure.

What I (think I) know about grief is….

It steals your stories. It makes you forget how you met her or how you came to love her.

What I (think I) know about grief is….

It gives the stories back. Grief is gracious that way. Each story returned as a living thing. Each story taking on new meaning with every year that passes.

What I (think I) know about grief is….

We avoid it. We regret. We organize. We plan. We gossip. We caretake. We fight. We clean the bathtub. We numb. We blame. We hide from the unsettling stillness of loss. We hide from powerlessness.

What I (think I) know about grief is….

It doesn’t care about proximity. It ripples through circles of knowing. From deepest love to stranger. And everyone, no matter how close, wonders if they have a right to cry.

What I (think I) know about grief is….

It is an offering. The tears are not (only) for you. They are gifts. A show of respect. A collective sea that carries her to the next journey. Be generous.

What I (think I) know about grief is….

It knows what it is to be Femme. Too much. Too loud. Too emotional. Too powerful. Unrestrained.