Grief is One Room in a House

Grief for her is a room in the house of her mind.

No windows.

One door.

Not a scary space or a place she avoids.

In fact, she often seeks its confines.

When emotions rise like a building thundercloud, she is drawn to that room.

Opening the door and stepping inside, she feels embraced.

Quietly she shuts the door behind her, knowing that she is only visiting.

The stay might be long or short, but not permanent.

She sits, cradling memories in her lap like a well-read book.

Long ago tears had cleansed her soul, leaving a space that cannot be filled.

And yet, that space is encircled with love so that the hollowness is bearable, stitched into her life like a scar that no longer throbs.

Refreshed, she rises again, sets down the book of remembrances, and gently closes the door behind her as she thanks the room for its healing.