What I Called Grief

As the specter in the dark, the unknown enemy, the imagined experience, the future nightmare, what I called grief wasn't grief.

As the tinge of pain seeping in after a swift gash, nerves remembering to feel, the first sharp shocks of any touch too close to a severing, what I called grief wasn't grief.

As the desperate pleading, the magical thinking, as the return from dissociation, thoughts flirting with despair, justified anger, reasonable hate, what I called grief was grief. But it was young.

As the whisper of connection, a notice of absence, a reminder of good, a reflection, as shared truth with humanity, as a solemn friend who needs no words to remind me that I survived pain, that my tears are always welcome, what I called grief today was companion.

In memory of Rachel.