Grief Settles
And grief heals.
Cancer is a pain.
A pain in your side, your gut, your heart.
Not literally, though that happens too.
Too often we think pain is a sensation.
Today, your pain is an emotion — grief.
Grief is not relieved by opioids, only masked behind their curtain of clouded dreams.
Dreams of a life gone by — days spent painting murals, dancing through flower gardens, swinging grand-babies high above your head, arguing about meaningless laundry duties, backpacking through the Rockies, peacefully canoeing with your favorite person.
Dreams of a life that will never happen — flying to Paris to see the Mona Lisa in person, nurturing your own expansive flower garden, watching your grandchildren graduate college, climbing a mountain again, infinite kisses on the lips of the one you love.
Grief settles heavy on your heart.
You struggle to breathe, craving relief — wishing away your circumstances, the diagnosis, this pain.
Shallow breaths, slowly, one at a time.
In and out.
The oxygen will come, calming its way through your body. And with it comes denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Understanding.
Not all at once.
But the longer you sit with grief, the friendlier it becomes. Grief will hold your hand through its stages. The stages of healing, not from the cancer but from its trauma. The stages of release.
And eventually, you will take a deep breath.
In and out.
Deep, slow breaths. Again, and again, and again.
Cancer is a pain. But grief brings healing, if you let it.
Thank you for being here,
