I was sitting with a friend last night who lost her husband to cancer last year. She said that it was almost as if 2010 never happened, or it was ages ago. And now, almost twelve months later, she is saying she is no longer numb, and the grieving even more desperate. And I want to tell her it will end, but we both know it would be a lie. We grieve, we die, we are reborn every day. There are moments when we are living, and dead moments when our blood is turning to alcohol beneath six feet of earth and the beetles are feeding off it, drunk and inappropriate.
No hands, no retreat, no return. Only a continual going out from our shoal, arms out, belly up...bloated and burnt. Then you lift me, with your sweat and love, desperate even in that. Desperate for that. True gifts indeed.
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