Sometimes, grief is an ephemeral thing. A fragment. A figment. It comes and goes, flitting in and out of time, spaces, dreams. Looking at the cat-food bowls still sitting empty on the kitchen floor. Thinking of my grandpa’s funeral, hazy with time, me in a somehow sad floral dress with a huge early-90’s bow and frizzy red hair. Glancing outside at Thor-tree, my petition tree, that has died from last summer’s drought. Walking out of HEB realizing, in that moment I pushed my cart through the store and onto the sidewalk, that I am not pregnant anymore.
Grief is also constant. It’s lead in the heart, rattling around like loose ammo. Sometimes the ball pings against something else, makes a connection, and that shoots to the surface. Reminding you that yes, you’re in mourning. Don’t you forget it!
Times like these make me wonder if we’re just always in mourning. That grief is one of the ingredients in the concrete of our foundations, along with joy and love and wonder and ?
There’s no Pagan angle to grief, really. Everyone, in every belief-system, experiences sorrow. I suppose I could talk about comforting deities or prayers, but mostly this week I just prayed to not be alone. I don’t know who answered me, but I wasn’t alone. There was my husband and my toddler and some mother-sense that countless mothers all over knew this particular grief–the grief of children lost, the grief of children never-born. And in that knowledge I was saddened, but comforted.