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Grief is Love



I have always found it interesting how there appears to be a socially acceptable "timeline" to grief. When a person suffers a profound loss, we bake lasagna, send flowers and we hold them close. But over time life finds a new pattern and normalcy. It is then that time is a thief and it moves on taking those that surround the bereaved onwards, outwards and away. But the bereaved still grieve.


They grieve a Christmas tradition that does not feel the same or a birthday that never would be.

The bereaved feels each date with a palpable truth of the fact that time moves and the grief remains. That grief is the love, held in the space that their beloved once inhabited. Grief can be an expression of love but it is not a performative act that is required to prove you love someone. It has no judgement. Grief has no job, it has nothing to prove. It can can look like many forms, many habits, and is for no one other than the bereaved themselves. But it is still love. It is love of a life that was dreamed of. Love of a life that once was. Love of what was intended. And even a love of self that is forever changed in the absence of another.

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