There’s a sacredness to grief. It’s something that can’t really be understood until you live it. There’s a texture to the sadness that isn’t depression. It’s sacred. It’s holy. It’s almost akin to something you love because you earned it. You know you have something to be sad about. You embrace it because you know it’s only there because you’ve lost something you loved so dearly.
There is an aloneness that isn’t lonely. It’s a knowledge that this journey of grief is one you take alone. There’s beauty in learning how strong and capable you are in the face of unspeakable tragedy. Once you accept that it’s your journey to take alone and there is healing that must be done alone, it almost becomes a comfort. Plus, when you’re alone you can feel all the emotions without fear of judgement. For me, being alone feels like relief. I love my people but I also need time to be alone and sit with my grief without the input of others.
There is understanding and perspective that only comes from a deep, soul rending, heart shattering loss. For me, there is a certain kind of softness that came when I finally yielded to my grief. When I accepted that it was now a part of me and that I couldn’t fight it, it changed. It is still heavy and difficult to carry but now I see beauty in it, too. I see the things it has taught me I could not have learned any other way. I see that grief is the price we pay for love. I’m not sorry for loving him and I’m not sorry for my grief.
There is beauty in grief. Tragic beauty. Dark beauty. But beauty nonetheless. You have to turn and look your grief right in the face to see it. You have to get intimate with it. You have to accept it and understand it. That’s when you can see the beauty.