| Grieve as God grieves, trembling over the power of the love that seems lost, but is only changing. |
| What do we do with the leftovers of our love? His telephone number was so familiar that I could play it, like a one-handed melody on the piano. To ease that intimate motion out of the repertoire of daily life is so painful, but I do it knowing that the eternal grace of our friendship does not depend on the memory of a motion, but on the magic of our conversation |
| Sometimes others turn from my pain. I hear them offering to help, but I see them slipping away in another direction, afraid to stand by me in such a terrifying place. It is then that I must preciously guard my own process, and find my way not based on another's estimation, but chosen for my own comfort's sake. |
| Reserve some mercy for yourself, so when you are sure that all is lost, there will be one last great power to embrace you. |
| My friend: You do not say to me, "Cease grieving." Thank you. Until it is time to do so, I cannot stop this process, however strange and undesired it may be. But I promise you, your nearness now will help to bring my mourning to a gracious end. |
| For the grieving, that first, hesitant step into the rushing stream of feeling leaves us wondering why we ever left our comfortable little boat. But rest assured that when it is over, we will simply sail away again. |
| When I find myself panicking, it's usually because I've let my mind wander off to the future - where will I be next year, how will I feel in two years, how will I survive Christmas and birthdays? An endless procession of empty days, weeks, months begin to line up in front of me like tombstones waiting to be inscribed with memories never made. All I can do is bring myself back to today, to tomorrow maybe, and remember that the future is unkowable and my place it it is yet unborn, |
| Perhaps if I had a coat of arms, This would be my motto: Weep and begin again. M.C. Richards |
 |
| More |