How to make friends with grief.

My mother died. She was 58. It was unexpected. During the weeks after, I found a narrative that fitted what I felt at the time, and this is a description of that.

I pictured my grief as a creature. A bit monster-like in appearance, but kind underneath. It wanted attention. It didn’t know what to do, it was lost and a bit scared. Under a furry exterior, it had sharp claws; those claws were bared. It hurt.

But it came from a place of love, not malice. I listened, I treated it with patience, I embraced it. I got to know it. I started to make friends with it, it took time, but I got there.

My grief-creature still surprises me - I have little control over it - but I accept it for what it is. When I hold that it comes from a place of love, it doesn’t hurt as much. It can jump at me out of no-where, remind me of times and feelings, and tears can come. But I can hold that. I don’t have to ignore it, suppress it, or have it drag me down. I prefer to embrace it and make it a part of me.

Mostly I think it wants me to remember. It walks in my sub-conscience, sometimes comes back to me for attention, sometimes I reach out to it. Sometimes I learn something new. Mostly if the claws start to come out, I can see what the underlying feeling is; we can embrace without it hurting. We’re on good terms. We’re friends.