haunted happiness

When Grief first arrived on my doorstep he was louder than me, he had stronger arms than me but wore an invisible cloak. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him, always around me. And he would slap me in the face every morning when I woke up.

Not in a hot way, in a way that hurt so bad I thought, he was right to do so.

I would want to stay in bed forever, hoping the swelling would go down.

But I never could lay for long.

My dog needed to pee and my cat needed breakfast, so I got up.

What was different about his hands, is the bruise was something only I could see. I would expect when I left my house for other people to ask me about my bruises.

But no one ever seemed to see anything wrong with me.

When Survivor Guilt first arrived on my doorstep, she was prettier than me, she had a softer voice than me but wore a bathrobe. And she would lurk in the shadows of my happy moments, reminding me of my disloyalty.

She always wanted to play tug-a-war with joy. I could feel happy for a moment and sometimes as happiness would win the battle, the guilt would pull back, harder.

Shouldn’t I still be crying?

My laughter was haunted by her whisper saying it was too soon to feel happy again.

I was caught up in their delicate dance, careful, not to step too far from the memory of the ones who weren’t still with me.

After a while Grief would stop slapping me every single morning and instead, he would surprise me on a random Tuesday while I was driving to work.

While I was thinking about how much they would have loved this song. And for a moment I think of sending the song to them, before I remember, I can’t.

I found myself Googling “How long does grieving last?”

Results were sadly inconclusive saying :

“Grief can last anywhere from six months to two years or more.”

Well, here I am, at two years, and it looks like I am a part of the “or more” group.

It doesn’t seem to be ending soon.

The more life I live, the more memories I make, and the more times I want to tell them all I have been up to.

In a way, it was easier at the start when nothing really was changing.

And I was still the same girl, he once knew.

Shouldn’t I still be crying?

The Survivor’s Guilt lingers, stretching its shadow as more lives slip away.

I watch in agony as Helene destroys their favorite places, and as Gaza and Lebanon crumble under bombs. And innocent lives get shot by men who don’t deserve a badge.

Yet, Joy still reaches out, shouting that I am still allowed to feel its warmth, while Guilt reminds me I am not doing enough to heal others worse off than me.

Grief and Guilt arms grow weary after the dance, my mind too is caught, suspended in the endless echoes of suffering around me.

I suppose Grief and Survivor's Guilt may never fully leave my home.

Like my dog and cat, maybe they will be able to learn how to co-exist. They might not snuggle up in bed together but they can at least stop fighting with me.

Knock, Knock

I open my door and am greeted by someone with the name, Resilience.

I was confused because they looked like me and had the same figure as me but then in a blink of an eye, transformed into anything I could ask them to be.

And to my surprise, they asked to go dance in the storm, leaping above Grief and Guilt, with a smile on their face.

Resilience is reminding me that it’s a gift that my life persists.

They sing to me that they are here to prove to me that I can rise again, transformed, with roots deeper and branches reaching higher than I knew were possible.

I tell them I have my doubts, I have seen some very big trees fall.

But I guess I will let them stick around if I even have a choice.