Day 204: Invite Me In

I'm continuing to participate in a 30-day grief writing workshop. Today's prompt asks us to consider how, as a grieving person, we are seen by those around us. This came out:

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How do you see me?

Am I the strong one?

The one you admire?

I wish I had an ounce

of your strength, you say.

Or maybe I'm the emotional one.

The one you avoid.

Shouldn’t she be over

this already? you say.

What do you see when you see me?

Perhaps I'm the lonely one.

The one you pity. If I

ever lost my love, I don’t

know what I’d do, you say.

Do you see me as the selfish one?

The one you hate? She’s

not going to talk about

him again, is she? you say.

Perhaps it's the dramatic one.

The one you roll eyes at.

She should keep that stuff

private, instead of putting

it all out there, you say.

Or maybe I am the sensitive one.

The one that baffles you.
It’s not like she lost a

husband or a child, you say.

When you look at me, what do you see?

You may think you see the brave one.

The one you can’t imagine

being. I thought for sure

she’d quit her job and move

back home for good, you say.

Who am I to you?

Am I the negative one?

The one who is stuck in grief?
Really, if she'd just focus on what's
good in her life right now, she
wouldn't feel this way, you say. 

Do I irritate you?
Do you see me as the contradictory one?

The one who shouldn’t feel this

way? I mean, wasn’t she the one who

broke up with him, anyway? you say.

Is it hard to be in the same room with me?

Who am I to you? Am I the cruel one?

The one you look to and blame?
She broke his heart and that’s

why this happened, you say.

And how do you feel around me?

Do I frighten you? Do my waves

threaten to crash on your shore, too?

Are you afraid they’ll wash away what

you, too, are trying to keep in place?

Or do you want to draw me near?
Do you want to take me in and wrap

me up? Tape my windows and bar

my doors? Protect me from the next

storm? And there is always a next storm.

Does the sight of me sicken you? Do

you hold me responsible for your

own discomfort? When I walk in the

room, do you forget your lines? Forget

your way? Do I remind you to forget?

Or do you draw strength from me?
Do you see me clothed in grace and

dignity? Do you imagine yourself in

a similar position and hope you’d

move like I move? Speak like I speak?

Invite me. Invite me in.

Invite me to reflect your own losses.

You are here, in this reflection with me.