If only we could. As much as we wish it, it will have it’s way with us. It will tumble and spin us and spit us out. Then it will decide to gobble us whole again.
There can be no getting away from it. There comes a time when realisation dawns. That inner knowing that we must experience and feel our grief for all that it is. That we must go through it and let it sit with us until its ferocity is ready to leave us for a bit. And we even learn and grow in acceptance. The acceptance that it is a frequent visitor. It regurgitates through us and through our life.
To seed this new life for ourselves is finally to surrender to our grief and to our loss.
To know its fury and its nuances.
To begin to face forwards.
And to begin to face life again.
It’s not an easy life nor the life we ever envisioned. Oh how very different it is, this life of contrasts. This life that begins to bring us its nuggets of truth for us to digest as best we can. This life that we have now snakes its way through the harsh winters and the blazing summer suns.
We will unfurl and will grow into it. We will begin to seed and plant our new and very different life. Each in our own way and in our own time. And one thing we will always know, that the seeds of love will be forever planted in the gardens of our heart.