I wanted to explain to everyone that I actually hurt. I’m not loud with my pain, but I’m capable of feeling it. Imagine every single bone in your body breaking, bit by bit. This was my life as I stood on subway platforms and smiled while ordering black coffee. I was polite, genteel, solicitous, but all I felt was regret. I was a river, and how do I tell everyone I’m drowning? Do I send a mass email? Find a clever way to compose my grief in tidy status updates? That losing you was not a piece of clothing one could so easily shed?
Felicia C. Sullivan
You've put into words what I've been living through in the last 3 years since my mother's stroke left her a cruel imitation of the incredible woman I knew growing up.
People want you to 'get closure' and neatly place your grief in a box, or give it a shape that fits into the puzzle that will eventually be your life story.
Yeah, my pain doesn't work to a schedule, motherfuckers. It doesn't take 'notes' on how to be more palatable in social situations. It can't be edited.
"Don't you dare try to make my grief easier for you to bear."
I haven't felt a line as much as that for a very long time.
Thank you for sharing this, Felicia.