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Grief is a thief, a hijacker.
A hitchhiker promising to get off at the next stop, then refusing to leave—
it grabs the wheel, careening onto an unlit road, commanding you to grieve.
It is a passenger you fear to keep yet also fear to lose;
your proof of love, its intensity—the tethered thread of connection.
Grief is a party crasher at the front door; you shout, “Go away.”
A welcome guest holding memories—you plead for it to stay.
It is loud, obvious, screaming, “Don’t leave me.”
It is quiet, walking beside you, wanting to be unnoticed.
Grief is bare skin in the frigid wind, raw and painful to touch.
It is a heavy blanket to retreat under when the world feels like too much.
It is a creeping shadow, enveloping the sun;
a spotlight, illuminating only what matters.
Grief is a stern teacher tearing down defenses, the only reprieve—to dig deep.
A steadfast friend reminding you they were never yours to keep…
but the love remains.
It is the broken second-hand of a clock, trapped between what was and what will be,
a blaring alarm urging you to wake up—to rise and meet your life with intention.
Buried in the blizzard, searching for the why,
grief is a circling red-tailed hawk in the clearing sky,
Seeing the big picture—how it all fits together.
Grief extends its hand: “Stand up and follow me—you are still alive.”
Confused, I asked, “Dear Grief, are you friend or foe?”
The answer took its time.
I began to see more clearly, the complexity and nuance—the duality.
Grief is not the enemy.
No longer foreign, it belongs to me—transformed repeatedly,
it integrates and stays.
The ground was broken open,
but new growth finds its way.
Grief takes the backseat now, sometimes reaching for the wheel,
but mostly it rides peacefully, reminding me…
it exists because I loved.
~
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