Storytime: "Grief."

[Lurkily]

This is a rare one in several ways.  Firstly, it's quite personal. This was written shortly after my father died, (Some years ago now,) but not revealed for a long while afterward.  Secondly, it's rare for me to say so much about myself, let alone on the internet.  Lastly, this is nonfiction.  My nonfiction is very rare, but always very personal.

I know that punctuation in a title is improper, or at least unconventional, but it's too appropriate to the title and the subject matter to leave out a period.

I was unable to source the image, despite the initials given as a clue, and today can't even find my original source for it.

Grief.

Grief.

People deal with grief in different ways. For me, I visualize it as a pool of water, quiet and still, hidden underground. Every now and then when things are nice and quiet, I visit it. I hike up the river, climb behind a waterfall, go into a hidden cave, follow the hidden marks inside the labyrinth, and pull on the torch mount to open the secret door. Then I’m there. I sit, and I dangle my legs into the water. Absorb a little of it, just for a little while.

Then I leave it, hidden and quiet. I go back to my life until I have a quiet, lonely moment to visit it again.

That’s what grief is, for me. A pool that you can drown in. Waters that I indulge in a little at a time, during the quiet times and lonely nights. Every time I touch that pool, I absorb a little of it, and maybe one day, I’ll reach the bottom of it.

Maybe there is no bottom. It doesn’t matter. It isn’t a goal. There’s no achievement to unlock. But as long as the water is there, I need to go there occasionally. Not for me. Not for the water. Just because.