Driving with Grief

 Seven months after Jim’s death last February, my experience of grief has evolved along a road going — I don’t know where. I’m not less sad but I’m vintage sad. Vintage grief refined after months in the heart and is a back-seat driver riding along quietly until it bolts up giving driving directions. Cry here, then turn left, sob there, on the next right feel your heart bereft. Then make a U turn and begin again.

There’s no safe harbor. I’m adrift with no safe place. Ipso facto the confidence of being loved no matter what. That has made me smaller.

I persist in thinking could I but find the perfect words, I would not hurt so much.