Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
Somehow my writing about this never ending grief journey always ends on a hopeful note. It catches me by surprise. Is that the real me? Or is that just how I want to seem?
Where is the woman who on bad days still cries in the car on the way to work? And on the way home. And in between. Who three years on from the death of her daughter still sometimes has weekends where she doesn’t get out of her pyjamas and binges on carbs and crappy chick lit to avoid the gaping hole that used to be filled with chatter and performance lessons and craft projects that left glitter on everything for weeks and endless re-runs of Barbie and Santa Buddies. Who struggles through black days for weeks leading up to her daughter’s birthday and anniversary.
Truthfully there are many days where I am fine, happy, joyful and grateful for the amazing people in my life. But there are also many days when the grief path I am walking feels like hip high mud, one plodding step through the filthy mire after another. And that’s ok. Grief and healing, like life (funny that), are messy and complicated.
Maybe that’s the picture of grief (life) that others need to see. None of us are perfect offerings. We are not healed. We are broken, but we are here showing up anyway, on good days or bad. The light gets in, but the light gets out too, that’s how can recognise each other, shining in the dark, no matter what our griefs or heartbreaks. We are not alone. We are all broken, but we are ringing the bells that still can ring.
I guess that’s ending on kind of a hopeful note too. Sorry not sorry.