Grief is a sharp knife.

I don’t know how to begin. I haven’t written a word in over three years. I just can’t. Everyone knows me as so prolific, and with a Superman ability to say it how it is, but I’ve lost. I feel so weak. How can I really “get over” this, if I can’t even write about it? Hence, why I just don’t write anymore…

But I miss my outlet. My muse has gone, but I know the words live, even if my soul is dead. I try. I really do, but it’s horrible. I’ve come up with one halfway decent poem in three years….

I know that if I just force myself to write, that eventually, it’ll all come pouring out, but I’m so frozen inside. There are no words worthy of her, of her life, of her enormous effect on everyone’s lives… I can’t do justice. I’m not that good.

But I love. And I guess that’s what matters.

How does one write about the loss of not only your mother, but your best friend? There are no words worthy. I was lucky to have had her for both, and am still devastated by the loss. I’m an only child, so there’s no one that understands my pain exactly the same. My Dad, of course, but it’s different. I thought I’d be okay in a while, but FORFUCKSSAKE IT’S BEEN 3 YEARS?! GET THE FUCK OVER IT!!?!?

But you don’t. You never really “get over it”. You just change. You move forward. Because you must. You pretend. You go through the motions of everyday, and holidays, and all that responsible adult shit. But you never get over it. Grief changes you. Sometimes, not necessarily in a good way, but it definitely forms you.

I’m actually in tears right now. So, I guess this is my WTF ever you want to call it, but here we go?! I am a writer. I’ve been silent too long. I need to speak.

For me.

For you.

For her.

Love you always, Mom. I’m trying.


~ by christel42 on February 8, 2016.

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