Still Life
A Meditation in Grief
In the weeks since my sister unexpectedly passed away, I’ve wondered if maybe grief is not just a state of mind but also a parallel universe. There is life in this other universe, but it is very silent and still.
STILL LIFE.
I feel as if I’m both present and not present. The air smells different. My body seems heavier, as if gravity is trying to keep me moving at a snail’s pace. A fog envelops me, even when the sun shines brightly.
Everything looks exactly the same as it ever was — but life feels muted and numbed. There is a stillness that threatens to turn into a stuckness.
The flower petals from the sympathy bouquets have dropped. And there is beauty left behind even in the undoing.
STILL LIFE.
But where is the wholeness? Where is the cohesiveness? Where is the place where this all makes sense again?
How do I return to the land of the living — the parallel universe where grief sits quietly in the background and not squarely on top of my chest?
Why can’t I find the map that charts a clear path home?
Is there a map?
Is there even a home?
Or is this a path I must discover (uncover/recover) on my own?
STILL LIFE?
