Inherited Grief
I came to look for you today but, in your place, I found an empty, worn-out chair. I stood and stared, while my legs went stiff and then something hugged me. I was half hoping that it was you. Instead, it was a big, black cloud, hovering around me and giving me the tightest embrace. I did not like the feel of this hug, it cast a shadow of regret. The giant cloud got darker and darker until it swelled up with grief. Eventually it burst wide open and heavy showers of sadness gushed, transcended into my eyes as cascading waterfalls. It made me weak. At my back, I hear the faint echos of your trembly laugh and I almost feel your small, wrinkly hand caress my lower arm like you used to. All surreal. Are you there? Are you happy where you are? Do they make you feel at ease? Are the pillows fluffed behind your back and do they take time to lift you, just as we did? This is grief, huh and it had to take you to teach it. What do you want me to learn from it? Humility perhaps.... gratitude maybe...