{This user developed PTSD from their father’s abusive tendencies}
I sit with my grief. I mother it. I hold its small, hot hand. I don’t say, shhh. I don’t say, it is okay. I wait until it is done having feelings. Then we stand and we go wash the dishes. We crack open bedroom doors, step over the creaks, and kiss the children. We are sore from this grief, like we’ve returned from a run, like we are training for a marathon. I’m with you all the way, says my grief, whispering, and then we splash our face with water and stretch, one big shadow and one small.
Callista Buchen, “Taking Care”
“People don’t know how to be when grief enters a house. She came with me everywhere, like a daughter.”
Lidia Yuknavitch, The Chronology of Water
Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must take care of what has been given. Brush her hair, help her into her little coat, hold her hand, especially when crossing a street. For, think,
what if you should lose her? Then you would be sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness would be yours. Take care, touch her forehead that she feel herself not so
utterly alone. And smile, that she does not altogether forget the world before the lesson. Have patience in abundance. And do not ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment
by herself, which is to say, possibly, again, abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult, sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child. And amazing things can happen. And you may see,
as the two of you go walking together in the morning light, how little by little she relaxes; she looks about her; she begins to grow.
Mary Oliver, “Love Sorrow”
;
[Retweet]
New favorite meme
The planetary correspondence page from my grimoire ☽◯☾
I'm just a artist learning to love myself and recover from my past.peace love and positivity ❗️BLACKLIVESMATTER❗️
243 posts