I wrote this study of grief for my monthly creative writing group. The prompt was 'scary'. I expect they were expecting ghost stories, ready for Halloween. Grief does scare me because it's immeasurable.
I’m scared I’ll lose my way and not be able to get back.
I haven’t enough mental crumbs to leave as a trail and you can’t tie a piece of string to the grieving process.
What if I stray from the well worn path of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance?
It is entirely likely I’ll get lost in the depression stage and that’s no use to anyone.
If I reach the point of no return, will I even know?
Better to keep my grief tucked away where it can hide and lurk and fester. I ease the pressure occasionally, when it’s safe. I’ll weep a little at a soppy advert on the television or allow a few fat tears to fall down my happy face when someone has a baby.
Sometimes I forget it’s there, briefly, until a snippet of a song hits me like a truck. I crumple when I remember you are gone.
I’m scared if I start crying I won’t stop.
I’m scared I have no tears.
I’m scared I have already accepted your death and I have nowhere to go.