Grief is a Curious Thing
For mama, who left me to navigate the waves on my own on 16th March 2022
Grief is a curious thing. And personal, so personal.
No two people grieve the same way. Labelling the movements of grief (or ‘stages’, in terms used by psychologists to describe this most primal of experiences), is like trying to label the cycles of waves that land on the shore.
Sometimes, the waves are so big, they sting their salt into the open pores of wounds. Other times, barely perceptible, they are like distant notes of a tune, triggering cherished memories.
A robin, celtic symbol of a messenger from realms beyond, cocks its head, insistent on attracting my attention. Another wave - bittersweet. She loved robins and all birds, all animals. She had a generous heart. She loved fiercely. I miss her. This robin shows me that her love is still with me, even if not in corporeal form.
In my experience, there is no linear progress, in stages, through grief, only waves, coming and going in cyclical fashion, as waves do. To grieve well, I believe, is to embrace life in all its unpredictability and chaos, remembering always that ‘This too, shall pass’. In every sense…..
To all those who have bid farewell to a loved one, from my heart to yours: May your grief be full enough to know you have loved deeply and healing enough to know that love is never truly lost ♥
She, My Mother Gone she is, beyond the pain and waves of grief left in her wake wash over me now, reminders of love heaven sent, deeply felt between mother and daughter. I search the waves, hoping to find the smallest trace of her but all that remains, is my tears. So I crawl to the shore and call out her name the waves keep coming as though to reclaim their water salty streams that streak my face expressions of yearning for mother’s embrace in this pain. To whom do I turn now she is not here? To whom do I tell all the doubts and fears that absorb me? She, was my anchor in stormy seas. She, who cheered on the hopes and dreams of my life. She, who dreamed me into being and from that day forth was promised to me as my mother. We have journeyed together for so long now I don’t know how to be without her. As more waves wash in and lick my feet a gentle touch returns my belief in love. The rhythm of water singing its song reminds me now that she lives on through me. If she is the ocean, then I am the sea we flow through each other as wind through leaves and grass. Though her body returns now to ashes and dust she remains in my heart a voice I can trust through eternity. © Áine Fortune 2022 Grief Is A Curious Thing Grief is a curious thing eats holes in the fabric of my existence scares me to death of another kind. Slow motion replay cheats life at every turn and yet, its frightful colours counterpose different hues without which, the value of life cannot be known. Heaviness engulfs me weighted down by tiredness never-ending unsated as it is by sleep. I can neither side-step nor out-run its shadow haunting me so with its darkness and remembrance. Still, in this torment is found contained a small but important inference that while presence is gone from physical realm its richness forever remains. Though my heart in its wisdom in deep-wound crevices may yet profess to know how this new-found pain is necessary, inevitable what would I give to let go? For surely the cost would be burdensome debt trading in memories to a further loss of one I loved so well. A comfort it is in certain ways to feel the shortening breath a darting mind and quickened pulse reminders of gifts you left. Then let it take me and break my heart like so many splinters of diamond refractions of light that still travel through insistent on being remembered. © Áine Fortune 2022 Time To Go Blithe spirit ascending now to rightful place beyond the busyness of hasty living too tired to imagine a different life too wired to stop and smell bright flowers until that time when death encroached and made your footsteps slow on feet that could not keep you up full breath a dream from years it took to get here. And then you knew, you understood the gravest folly of misled youth to choose what seems important until lifeblood is drained away turning thence to mud and clay in veins that will not flow. And spirit, having seen it all compassion-filled, no longer falls but rises back to Glory consigned to history, the play of life a prayer in memoriam. © Áine Fortune 2022 Your Song Listening to wind, tree leaves turning singing your wordless song a tune remembered though unheard while here in earthly form. Could I do it justice if, like birds I sang without thought or care to correctness of tune or choice of words I might capture your signature air the essence out of which you were made so bold, relentless, untamed? But stifled by sadness, a blank white page engulfs my heart with shame. Who were you beyond what I saw what I needed you to be a woman scarred and perfectly flawed or an angel waiting to leave? I feel you with me everywhere your song an ethereal tendril connecting me always to deeper layers of this soulful, elusive melody. I do not need to sing your song but to recognise its sound and know that you will never be gone while its notes can be heard all around. © Áine Fortune 2022 The Robin Adrift, without anchor, lost in the storm Searching, not finding, familiar port. Then the robin, insistent so sure came to find me in the calm of dawn. Close he was, so close I could touch brave, unwavering as a guide from above. I thought perhaps he was looking for food but it was not that to which he alluded. Crossing the realms between this one and that to bring me a gift right there on the path. Hopping around until I could see that when loved ones depart still, love does not leave. © Áine Fortune 2023
So beautiful Aine. She would have loved to read these words. While I was out walking the dog today, the sun was shining. It hadn't properly shone for weeks. It was a gift from your Mum, of that I'm certain, just to remind me that her commanding energy is ever present. It made me sing. I miss her too.