MY GRIEF

isaBella Abreu Carvalho
Grief fills the room up of my absent child, lies in her bed,walks up and down with me,puts on her pretty looks, repeats her words, remembers me of all her gracious smile.Stuffs out her vacant garments with her form,then have i reason to be fond of grief.With you a part of me hath passed away, but yet i treasure in my memory, your gift of charity, and young heart's ease, and the dear honour of your amity, for these once mine, my heart is rich with these, and i scare know which part may greater be what i keep of you, or you rob from me.My child is gone, and i am dying, i am killed by grief,crushed by the enormity of being alive,consumed by self-hate because it was my job as her parent to protect her and i could not.For that i do not deserve to live.They say the bereaved experience stages denial, then anger, blame, and finally acceptance.But grief is not clear cut for me. It swoops and swirls and cuts me off and knocks me down, running helter-skelter from stage to stage and back again while i months for my own death because i would be reunited with my little girl.Still, i cannot let go of life, i understand so little of this process of grief, yet this i know for sure, the theory about stages is wrong.We bereaved don't reach acceptance.We don't recover frin grief.If we are lucky and if we are strong, wwe simply learn how to live with it.We live to honor the memories of our loved ones.They deserve no less from us.To makes our lives count is our penance for living!Dealing with a loss like the death of a child is more like learning how to live after a part of you has been cut off than it is like healing from a wound.
Forever In Our Hearts!
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