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Your death goes with me wherever I go.
I find grief in surprising places –
shoved in my pocket
like a forgotten five-dollar bill in last winter’s jacket;
or at the back of the closet,
buried under piles of abandoned shoes and clothing.
Discovering this hidden grief
brings not the delight of unearthing a treasure….
but it is, nonetheless,
a gift.
A gift that helps me
wring out my heart once more –
and relive the pain,
the questions,
the unknown.
I am working through this grief
like a patchwork quilt.
Each scrap or remnant I find
gets washed by tears,
dried in the sun,
and then mended and sewn together –
to make a larger piece
to add to a still larger piece.
The threads I use to sew my grief patches
come from the present –
from living my life
each moment –
fleeting moments like
seeing the sunrise,
a hug from my children,
a certain verse in a song on the radio.
Now my life,
shattered by your death,
has come down to this:
finding enough
thread
every day
for the mending.
