TITLE: The Wraths of Grief
By Kim Sandstrom
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they call it now in the poppy psyche way,
and of course I get the double meaning...
the shock of loss that really
is a hit in the head
and a shout of
"good grief God, how could you!"
and the way the collective "we" thinks it is proper to grieve in the 21st century...
...and I believe
the Victorians weren't so wrong to wear the hair of loved ones coiled in pins on their tear stained breasts...
or take a "last" picture before laying their loved one in the dirty hands of the Creator...
or sitting for three days while their darling sleeps without breathing in the room with them....
or like the ancients,
making masques of sweethearts for perpetuity...
or wearing black for a year...
or weeping, wailing, ulalalling...
like those in heated climes...
I would rather do any
than eat my way through the days, drink my way through the long hours, or "fix" my brain with magic potions created by medical witch doctors in square gray buildings.
We don't know how to grieve.
We don't know how to feel
the wraths of grief.
We are so stupid.
We are so afraid.
We sweep, cover, pretend
we wouldn't hurt
so much if we do this..
We are so wrong.
Because the pain is so terrible...
that it is like burning from the inside out
And it doesn't go away in one month, two months,
three months, four...
Twenty two months later,
the word pain is quite inadequate, quite plain and mundane.
Let me give you an example...
when learning a young mother had cancer,
I secretly pined to change places with her...
now that is bad. That is wrong...but that is what
being me looks like...
22 months later.
In their horsehoof beating rampage, the wraths
chase me down on the road to my "redemption".
The wraths don't let me go....
I need to be rescued from them...because I am not sure I can do this alone anymore.
But I do believe my Redeemer liveth...
and I believe my daughter lives with Him.
I am so jealous of God.
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