grief
noun
Mental anguish or pain caused by loss or despair: heartache, heartbreak, sorrow
Mental anguish or pain caused by loss or despair: heartache, heartbreak, sorrow
But yet can such a simple sentence really relay the true meaning and depth of this emotion. As I sat in the church today I couldn't help but wonder how deep the well of grief really is.
Have I grieved?
Yes, undoubtedly, but on the periphery of my consciousness I am also aware that I've merely scratched the surface of it all.
As I watched Artemis say goodbye to her father today, I couldn't help but to cry with her. How can one possibly look at another, whose heart is clearing breaking before your very eyes and not grieve? How could I possibly stare into the eyes of this woman, whose 8 year old face I remember, and not want to somehow make it all better?
And yet you know you can't, and perhaps a part of you grieves for that. For knowing that no matter how much this person matters, there really is nothing you can do.
And I wondered if it was my place to feel for her in her grief. After all I did not know the man, I simply had vague memories. Is it not a feeling so intensely private that my tears may be seem to be a mockery of the other, stronger memories of the people who clearly had the right?
Rightly or wrongly, I empathised, I held her and hoped she knew the millions of things I couldn't and didn't know how to say...
Have I grieved?
Yes, undoubtedly, but on the periphery of my consciousness I am also aware that I've merely scratched the surface of it all.
As I watched Artemis say goodbye to her father today, I couldn't help but to cry with her. How can one possibly look at another, whose heart is clearing breaking before your very eyes and not grieve? How could I possibly stare into the eyes of this woman, whose 8 year old face I remember, and not want to somehow make it all better?
And yet you know you can't, and perhaps a part of you grieves for that. For knowing that no matter how much this person matters, there really is nothing you can do.
And I wondered if it was my place to feel for her in her grief. After all I did not know the man, I simply had vague memories. Is it not a feeling so intensely private that my tears may be seem to be a mockery of the other, stronger memories of the people who clearly had the right?
Rightly or wrongly, I empathised, I held her and hoped she knew the millions of things I couldn't and didn't know how to say...
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