Sometimes an unexplained grief passes through a void within me, knocking the wind out of my chest. Sometimes it wakes me up, my eyes blinking open slowly, wet with tears I didn’t know I needed to shed. Sometimes I slip into it during my waking hours…slowly, without realizing or understanding what is happening – like when you jump into a pool, your body adjusting to the temperature within the time it takes for you to rise to the surface for your first breath.
This void of grief is endless. I’ve been wading through it as long as I can remember. It’s like the ocean, with wave after wave arriving despite the tide predictions of my consciousness miscalculating their power.
I feel it choking me. I feel my lungs expand and contract. I know I can breathe, and yet I’m gasping.
This all encompassing consumption disappears with the same lack of notice it uses upon its arrival. At least it’s consistent. Loss is proof of life. How lucky must I be to experience this at all?