Eclipse

 Like the rest of the world, I kept rushing out to look at the moon last night. Alas my point & click camera couldn't focus on the red moon so I'm missing that picture to complete the set but it was a mesmerizing natural experience. 

In last year's Grieve anthology, there was a wonderful poem about how grief is like a sniper lining up his shot. I thought that was the most accurate image, because for me, it's not the birthdays or events when I feel the pain of loss, because I can steel myself in advance. It's when it hits me out of nowhere and I feel almost as if I've been punched. A little shock along with the pain.

Yesterday was one such day. I was looking at new release books and was surprised to see Ian Rankin had a new Rebus book out because I thought he'd died a few years ago. I then realised, it was actually my dad who had died, and with him, my need to buy him Rankin books for Christmas. 

Grief is sort of like an eclipse. The adjustment you've made to the loss is clouded over. There's a bit of confusion as the pain wells again. The dark hole of absence grows large again.

But you sit with it again and feel the pain. In awhile it slowly returns to the new normal. But until it does, you can't quite shake the sadness. Even years later.

Grief is an echo of love, and I guess in a weird way, it is a celebration of that person. We should always celebrate the love we shared, not focus on the loss that we're left with. That way, our heart returns to full, though it is a natural phenomena to be covered by darkness for awhile. One worth taking notice of, if not necessarily enjoyed. Grief is merely the moments when the pain covers the love and memories, the same love and memories which normally bring happiness and comfort because your heart is full of them. Grief is merely an eclipse of the heart.

Linking with #Ziegeunsdienenhimmel

Just to end on a cheery note....

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