This is a piece I wrote for a publication that incorporated the dichotomy I experienced as I started to deal with grief, alongside my love for nature. I have always used nature as a means for escape, for joy. It now feels almost naïve of me to have seen it without its own shadows, its own cycle. For nature to exist, so must birth and death. In the early days of my grief I sort solace in nature, it became an outlet for my anger, my sorrow, and my resignation.
For all those experiencing grief I hope you find some recognition in my words and perhaps even connection.
April. Stood at the shoreline I silently scream into the sunrise.
I know what is coming.
Before the tests have been taken, before the bloods have been checked.
Yesterday. Yesterday I knew.
When he had to stop at the top of the stairs. When he told me not to tell mum that he was experiencing pain in his chest and his bones. I knew it was leukaemia. The word ricocheted through my head, deafening me, as if I was being told by God. A God I didn’t even know I believed in.
As the sky changes, deep red hues, dusky pinks, for the first time in my life I hate it. How dare you still rise? How dare you still operate the same? My world is dying. I know she says. But I’ll stay here. Every day.
I worry that I have caused this. The universe and I, we’ve been talking. I asked her for the gift of presence, and she’s given it.
Not like this. Please.
I have been struggling to appreciate life for what it is, to heal, to move forward. Stuck in the same never-ending loop. Did I ask for this? Is this my fault?
I exhaust myself with my internal screams. I scramble up to the beach huts to take a breath.
Etched on a beach hut is a quote from the Bible; “When my heart is overwhelmed and weak: Lead me to a rock higher than I”. God is speaking to me. I don’t even know if I believe.
I didn’t ask for this. Please. Take it back.
October. The chemo rounds are done. The sun still rises.
I don’t know how long we have.
“At least you’ve got time” they say. You don’t have time. There’s never enough time.
I know I should ask questions. Questions about his life, his soul. But I beat myself up because I don’t know what they are. I can’t articulate a single one.
I have had to grieve who I was. My petty non-existent worries.
I am now a daughter faced with losing her father. Who will forever be in sorrow.
It’s almost as if the universe lifted the veil, just for a second. I know now that it ends. That there isn’t a second to lose.
I almost feel guilty for feeling like I have a renewed sense of purpose. For feeling like the jigsaw pieces fit together.
There can be no fear now. Because the worst that could happen is that I go where he goes.
I tell the Universe that I have learnt my lesson. In every sunrise, every breath, every conversation with nature. I pray for her to hear me.
Remove this cancer from his bones. Please God.
Let us watch more sunrises together, laugh together about what a time it’s been.
Let us defy the odds. For now we know what it is to live.
Grief is the most painful emotion, I think, because it is so deeply rooted in love. You’ve captured it beautifully. ♥️