I find grief to be like an old acquaintance that shows up at the most unexpected times. You know, one of those characters from a movie – the old college roommate that never quite grew up – a disheveled vagabond that travels the world, living off others’ generosities. The guy you rarely hear from that suddenly knocks on your door, unannounced, in the middle of night, disrupting the entire household.
You let him. You always do. Not because you enjoy his company or because there is any obligation to do so. No, you let him in because you don’t know how not to – and because, no matter how much he may irritate you, there is something familiar and comfortable about him.
He settles in. You never know for how long – an hour, a few days, or for an extended visit. He turns your world upside down – messes up your house, turns your day into night and night into day, interferes with your relationships, and, in his all consuming need for attention, completely drains you of your energy. He entices you with his tells of dark adventure; and for a while, you find yourselves strange bedfellows.
Then, as quickly, and as unannounced, as he came, he leaves. One morning, you sleep late and awaken to find him gone. You pull yourself out of the funk, take a shower, straighten up your house, and begin to reach out to those you have ignored. The air feels lighter, the energy more vibrant, and there is space to breathe once again. In your newly obtained freedom, you possess a stronger appreciation for the subtle joys of your day and a new awareness of the abundance that surrounds you. You return to the sync of life…
…until his next visit.
