The stickiness of grief

You would think by now I would be over it. You would think the loss I've had would be something I would have just moved past, grown through, evolved from.

But the hole in my existence pervades and is so wide and vast now that it seems to have its own signature and frequency. If anything happens in my life that reminds me of its existence, I will have to take time to sit with it.

I think about a friend of mine whose child died and she and her husband never had time to get to know their son. I look around and see memories everywhere that remind me of hope and possibility.

I hold out hope that there's a possibility that I'll feel whole again in some way. But I also know that each and every one of us born will face a series of challenges in their lives.

I am happy for the continued existence of the objects of my grief, but it doesn't make it any easier when the call of remembrance comes and I have to sit there for a moment and contemplate whatever error I caused. I cannot assign blame to anyone but myself. 

And then the vibrations of the reminded pain begin to fade, and I get through it another time. hoping so much I can withstand the emotions and direct them away from anger and sorrow. What happened happened. 

I am alive and these feelings are important to listen to. Plotting them out leaves notes in a life that one day may add up to something melodic. I cannot turn away from the light of hope, but I will always worry about what radiation it might bring that may affect my health.