Grief Encounters
I keep grief in a box in the basement, but sometimes I find it in my desk drawer among old photos and folded papers. Sometimes I feel it in the air or sense its presence just after midnight when distractions disappear in the dark.
It emerges without warning, penetrating my lungs with its thick, stale breath, seeping into the spaces just beneath my ribcage. It pulls me inward, tunneling through memories, replaying scenes and voices long lost.
There it remains, mingling with anxiety and waiting on my full attention—waiting to hear me say its name. Only then will it return to its dormant state—the box, or drawer, or favored month—and I return to myself and the freedom of unhindered breath.
I feel this fiercely. Beautiful, Ash.
Your personification of grief is palpable, and this morning I am grateful to have spent some time with it, thanks to your words.