I miss the rest of my family, too, and all the friends I have lost recently. My life went from very full to very empty abruptly. It now feels like that ache in your lungs after a particularly deep cough. Too much contraction keeps me from the next inhale. I take in neither grief, nor relief, nor life.

Grief is the shading that takes the brightness away from even the sunniest day. It’s not so black that I cannot see (or do), just dimmed enough that I know it is there. I have always asked for the full experience of life – its ups and downs. But I seem to be stuck somewhere in the middle, without access to the edges. I survive, some may even say thrive, but it feels very different now. I protect myself from the very bottom, afraid it might be bottomless, which seems to block me from the top. I know the key to my breaking through to the brightness is the surrender to the blackness. But it’s so very dark down there. How will I find my way?

I want to dance again, free and present only of the movement of my body and the rhythm of the universe. I want the symphony of my grief to play at a deafening volume so that I cannot deny it. I want it to overtake me, throw me to the ground and ravage me. When we are done, I want to be filled with emptiness.  From nothing, I can begin again, the void drawing life to it. I can listen for the music and squint at the bright, bright light.