Today’s prompt: Grief is everywhere. Especially in early days, everything is connected to grief – whether it’s something they loved or touched, something that only exists now because they’re gone, or something seemingly random that stirs up a memory or ignites longing. Grief is everywhere. It comes attached to everything. Nothing is exempt. It’s the lens it’s all seen through, the connective glue between disparate parts.
Begin your writing today with this not-so-simple sentence: Grief is everywhere.
Grief is everywhere.
Grief is etched on the insides of my eyelids, pictures on a constant loop, and smudged beneath my eyes, a blatant reminder of restless nights.
Grief is lodged deep in my gut, an obstruction and a weight. A burden. It aches and makes repulsive the meals I once loved.
Grief has settled on my chest, suffocating me with its pressure, with its sheer mass, rendering me helpless. Trapped.
Grief has lashed itself to my wrists and ankles, insisting I drag it along my path. Gravity teams with grief, pulling me down.
And this is just my body.
Grief is everywhere.
Grief is in the pencil marks charting growth on a wall and in the Cooper-fist-sized hole in drywall and a door. It is in the unused gift cards and unsmoked cigarettes, unwashed laundry and unfolded blanket.
Grief is in the empty hammock swing hanging opposite mine, in the discarded sunflower shells littering the ground and the forlorn Yeti jug that’s seen its last hike. Grief is in the sight of your car as I turn up our street, in that brutal flash of realization that no, you’re not home. Only your car is home.
Grief is on the backroads we wandered last summer, along the gravel two-tracks that seem to wind through the woods and invite conversation. It’s on the trails we ride, the paths we walk, and the hills we climb.
Grief is everywhere, but also nowhere at all. I could avoid all the places, stay home and hide away from the world, or I could move away and begin anew; it wouldn’t matter. I can’t escape an invisible reality. Nor should I. My love has fostered my grief.
Grief is everywhere.
Grief just is.
Woods Writes 