Seasons of grief ...

I wonder about my passionate nature.  Everything I do, everything I say is with passion.  I wonder if my journey has been made easier or harder because of my passion.  I seem to move through the many moods of grief, always taking my emotional temperature.  

These past few days, I have returned to a state of numbness, a despair so deep and enveloping that nothing seems able to ripple its surface.  My experience so far suggests that this a prelude to deepening grief filled with  moments of heightened awareness of my loss, of the shattered dreams, a time of anguished tears.

I also know that this too shall pass.   On the other side, there is another experience waiting for me.  It may be easier or harder to bear; however, all of it is measureable, all of it will pass.  There is comfort in knowing this.

Just as there are random cool nights during a warm summer, there are unpredictable seasons to my grief;  all holding a secret, an inner logic.  The best I can do is live in the moment, accepting what the day has to offer.  Tomorrow?  Who knows.

I tell you hopeless grief is passionless.  ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

It is a constant choice not to bind myself to hopelessness.