No one was on the schedule to write for tonight so I am posting this as an Open Thread for grieving people who want a place to gather.
Please share whatever you need to share.
Welcome, fellow travelers on the grief journey
and a special welcome to anyone new to The Grieving Room.
We meet every Monday evening.
Whether your loss is recent, or many years ago;
whether you've lost a person, or a pet;
or even if the person you're "mourning" is still alive,
("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time),
you can come to this diary and say whatever you need to say.
We can't solve each other's problems,
but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
Unlike a private journal
here, you know: your words are read by people who
have been through their own hell.
There's no need to pretty it up or tone it down..
It just is.
It seems the whole world is awash in grief right now. Death and mourning are everywhere.
People mourning loved ones as bombs fall in Gaza and Israel.
People mourning in Iraq from direct and indirect acts of war: starvation threatening as many lives as bullets.
The mother of Michael Brown collapsing into tears on television--today she expected to be taking her 18 year old son to his first day of college. Instead she is planning his funeral.
A brilliant comedian loved by millions loses his lifelong battle with depression and takes his own life.
And I have two funerals to attend this week: one on Thursday and one on Saturday.
I know that death is a fact of life, but there are times when it seems that the whole world is mourning and crying. It takes everything I have to resist joining in. There is a line between feeling my natural compassion for those who are hurting and taking in the pain until it starts to slice open my own deep woundedness.
I have been doing OK for the last few weeks and managing grief triggers better than usual.
But today has been a trial.
As I swim in this maelstrom of grief all around, I need to make myself seek out signs of life and hope.
I sent an email to a friend a little while ago and asked him to send me a picture of his new baby. In a few minutes I will go out for my nightly walk. Maybe I will listen to some music. I can't shut out reality, but I can't take it in too deeply either.
The grief of the world has raw and jagged edges, and if I swallow it whole I could bleed uncontrollably inside.