In overseeing both parts, I understand the fastest way through - is, in fact, through. Another part of me is just tired, battle weary and desperate for an extended period of emotional relief. Part of me, excited to acknowledge acceptance I’m worthy of grief, sees the positive progression into mental maturity. More pain is ahead, but I’m not scared of what’s coming, knowing it’s another natural phase in reclaiming my life. Grief will test both, having already announced its harsh presence with intense emotion and physical manifestations. I’ve grown, chewing through other emotional healing in ebbs and flows, making ready my mind and body.

Time has a way of deciding my next steps in recovery. The practice of compartmentalizing old wounds allowed me time needed to heal. I had sealed it with thick avoidance tape and stowed it away with other nasties I wasn’t ready to deal with. My grief box, heavy and full, has opened itself at last.

it can be beautiful in the end.Īs we mentioned last week, time appears to be in control of the progression of the process.ĭavid, in his personal essay, My Delayed Grief Has Finally Arrived, first published in Know Thyself, Heal Thyself, wrote in detail about time and grief. It may be a long arduous trip, but if we're patient, kind with ourselves, and allow our natural human processes work.

As writers, revisiting old pieces can be emotional, uncomfortable, and strange, but the endeavor helps us see how far we've travelled. Not surprisingly, we both experienced visceral reactions while writing the context to our previous pieces for this newsletter. Writing through those difficult times, while interesting and reflective then, were mere snapshots in time. As we combed through our archives, rediscovering previously written essays and poems, we were reminded of specific times we sat alone in our individual grief, writing our way through it all.

Rusty Hearts