Grief (again)

Dear Grief,

I see you. I feel you. I welcome you and give you space. I can adjust my life to make room. I feel you in my chest. It is not pain. It is a full, overwhelming feeling. You fill a place that was once held by something else. You, grief, are nothing more than a placeholder. An emotional paperweight. You are occupying space that does not belong to you.

grief. n. deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone’s death.

On February 28th, I lost my uncle. He was the one who I thought was the most spiritual of all his brothers–following a religion and religious practice I had never heard of–and rarely gave his teachings more than a respectful nod one gives to elders we think know nothing of our youthful struggles.

In 2020, his lessons would hit home. Sitting in quarantine, I’m sure many people found themselves in the sunken place. Not sure where to turn, I clung to past and present guides around me. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until his passing that I realized that it was his lessons I’d been practicing to keep my sanity. Energy, he taught me, is transferable in people. The negative moods of others I was so willingingly opening myself up to were being absorbed and taking up space.

When you let someone vent all over you, they are just transferring their negativity and their negative energy to you. You walk away carrying it whether you realize it or not. Whether you want it or not.

Charles Uncle

Amazed at how easily the words spoken in my mother’s hospital room returned to me, I wonder now if my uncle found his way to me just to give me that reminder. (Other family members have accounts of his visitation as well.) At the end of 2020, I made the decision to open myself up by releasing all of my negativity and embrace the positive. The first step to that release was this series. Releasing my emotions into the atmosphere for others to absorb and connect to was a way to acknowdge the stressful and frustrating emotions I’d collected over the years. I want to say that I let them go, but I’m human and they’re not done with me yet. I am a work in progress. Small, positive steps.


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