I was on a Zoom call a few weeks ago with a stranger who unexpectedly shared a grief the size of the moon. I could see it in her eyes before she even said anything; a wan moonlight swam in them. Or maybe they were tears.
Her brother had died a few weeks prior. She was quick to say: “But he had a great life.” I could see in the reflexiveness of her comment the strain of her heart against its own sadness.
Her confession had no natural place in the conversation, but then that’s the way with grief, curling itself into every corner and jacket pocket–and anyway I think we should be a little less precious with where we permit our hearts to hang out. It’s OK, I wanted to say, you’re safe here, but instead I said “I’m so sorry to hear that,” and let her talk for a few minutes without saying anything, just nodding and sighing heavily, because maybe those are the same thing?
I have thought and written a fair amount about grief, and still I found myself inarticulate in its face over Zoom. But maybe grief wants no condolence. Maybe it just wants to be seen, and accepted.
And I mean, is there anything more urgent in life than bearing witness to love? Which is really what this was. A daughter’s planet-sized love for her dad, pouring out with abandon.
At the end of the call, after we’d turned the conversation back to the matter at hand, and made polite jokes and said over one another: “well, thank you so much for making the time,” I said:
“You’ve shown you’re capable of great change–“
And I meant it with regard to her work credentials but I saw her eyes water and I thought how much it means to remind ourselves that we are far stronger than we think. That we are fluid, metamorphic. That we have survived 100% of our bad days. You know?
So, try that on for size today.
I am capable of great change.
****
A bit of a sad take on this theme, but it was too a propos not to share — the poem below by Lisa Jensen leapt out at me this week. I would add to this that tomorrow we can be many other things, too. (A la Wendell Berry: Be the like the fox — make more tracks than necessary — and “practice resurrection.”)
I Could Be Many Things by Lisa Jensen
Clouds are white blankets, folded and stacked. Branches are arms, brown, thin, beckoning. Leaves are fingers snapping, crisping call to pay attention. Birds can be anything. They shape themselves to a black ship. They bob, dip, murmur about the end of the earth. I could be many things, but today, I am only a woman who looks at the sky and cries.
****
Sunday Shopping.
This post may contain affiliate links. If you make a purchase through the links below, I may receive compensation.
MI GOLONDRINA YELLOW GINGHAM DRESS // LIZZIE FORTUNATO NECKLACE // FREDA SALVADOR JELLY SANDALS // LA VESTE GINGHAM PANTS // AYR TANK // AMAZON LEMON KEY RING // TARGET TERRY CARDIGAN AND SHORTS SET // LOEFFLER RANDALL GINGHAM PEPLUM TOP // MONASTERY ROSE CLEANSING OIL // AMAZON HAIR CLAWS
Leave A Reply