A Theory of Grief

Theme song: Warwick Avenue

Here's my theory:

Grief is its own animal. It is a fierce and furry animal with sharp teeth and claws. And a life of its own.

Grief in the beginning hangs close by, gnawing and clawing at your heart or rubbing your flesh as it insinuates itself around your body.

Later, as you and your particular Grief get tired of one another -- or complacent like long-time companions -- Grief leaves you be from time to longer time.

You know, when you are brave or even just conscious, that Grief will, in time, make its way back to you.

Birthdays and anniversaries are obvious times, although they are not the only times and they, too, can slip by with nary an extra flutter of your heart.

At other times you wait, stealing yourself for the time, the moment, Grief will come, stealthy at first and then gathering speed and force to fell you and tear at your tender places.

Unpredictably is one way this animal stalks.

Dramatic?

Those who know, know. It may be painful to admit, but think back, just for a moment, to the dark times, the times when every bone ached with longing for someone -- or something -- that could never be. And that's just life.

Since each Grief is its own animal, you neither control it nor know how long it will live. Impossible to kill, you must wait for it to die.

Grief can even be ferocious in its death throes and then, anyway, it haunts you as its own ghost. Who, after all, truly forgets?

Grief is Like an Ocean

I think, too, that each Grief is an ocean. An ocean of tears. You have to cry that whole ocean.

When friends -- or even strangers -- are willing to cry for my daughter Chloe's death, in my heart I thank them because they are crying part of my ocean. Yes, I believe we can to some extent grieve on behalf of others.

A human being, willing to feel and face the terribeautiful truths of life -- and therefore death -- in close proximity to another human humbled by Grief, is indeed a healing force.

Thus Grief is an animal and Grief is an ocean.

Then, too, we have the miracle of the life force itself: One human who will cry for another, time's solace, new perspectives and the unexpected treasures that may come to life after devastating loss.

More powerful than Grief is Infinity, a timeless resource that, like a tree root pushing through concrete or a scar that, as long as you live, gets gradually smoother, mysteriously and miraculously wears at your pain.

Yes: Grief is an animal and Grief is an ocean.

And: Infinite healing is not only possible, it is inevitable.

Happy 14th birthday anniversary to my favorite ghost, Chloe Linda Kelleher (June 5 - 8, 1999). Thank you for all the treasure.