WHAT is it to grieve?

To me, grieving is a process I shall describe thus:

It's like slicing open your abdomen to bring out the things we want to keep hidden really, but we know deep down have to be aired and faced or they'll fester inside and kill us. So -almost despite ourselves - we pull out our intestines and put them on a table. We poke through the stinking mess with a pencil, unravelling yards of slippery intestines. We stare at them. We want to talk about them all the time, as if enough talking about it will make it seem real, because really we're still in shock that this thing has happened to us. After enough* time, we start to see the order of things, the way they should be pieced back together. So we shove everything back in, hoping it's going to be all right, and we patch ourselves back together as best we can, although it might be messy rather than pretty. Afterwards, we shouldn't hide the scars of it, because although we might like to forget it all happened, it did, and like it or not it shaped us in some way.



*enough? It might be weeks, years, a lifetime. No one can tell you the length of your grieving is wrong. Whatever time you need is enough.

Talking about grieving is easier than doing it though.