Grief.

Among the many fears I have, most of which are irritational might I add, my fear of grief is perhaps the most prominent. After all these years on the planet, I have not yet experienced a loss that hit close to home. I have never been hit by a loss that completely shuttered my world or sent it into a spiral. I have never truly experienced grief in its truest form. And even though I’m cognizant of all this being a blessing because many people would kill to be in my position, the overthinker that I am cannot help but constantly wonder if a massive loss awaits me, if grief stands at the very next turn I take, hands aloft, holding a “no-way through”, ready to have me turn the other way. I cannot help but think that I am okay now, but it is not going to last long, that I should be readying myself for whatever is coming. I know I should not be thinking this way but try as I may, the thought won’t stop seething inside my head. In the end, I wake up every day praying that today is not the day I receive that dreaded call, that gut-wrenching text. Sometimes I feel as though I am ready to grieve because I have relived countless times the loss of the people dearest to me; I feel as though I am ready to handle the emotions, the ramifications of it all. But I know that is far from how it works. The one thing I take comfort in, and the thing I wish for everyone who has experienced grief or is going through a grieving period right now to take comfort in as well, is that perhaps grief in itself is a representation of how blessed we all are. We have been blessed enough to have loved and to have been loved so much that losing some people feels like losing a piece of ourselves, like losing a significant part of what makes us whole. And there is hardly a greater blessing than to love and to have been loved in this world. For many, that is but a wish. I am aware of the fact that that does not change much; it does not make the pain any easier to bear. It is probably mere platitude at this point. But it is, for the moment, a glint of the light at the end of the tunnel that we can hold onto.