Dear Grief,

You are bossy, unpredictable, and mean. You never show up when I think you will. On birthdays, anniversaries, or any type of celebration, I brace myself for your arrival, only for you to no-show. Then, on beautiful sunny days as I drive with the windows down, blasting Edge of Seventeen, you show up in the backseat and ruin everything. You are selfish and persistent. Like so damn dedicated, and all you do is hurt me. What kind of relationship is this? Take a hike or a really long vacation. You’ve earned it. Gold star buddy. Now, fuck off. I need a break. 

When we first met, I wept uncontrollably. You shook my body with gut-wrenching sobs, and then dug yourself deep into my head and chest, where you made yourself at home for weeks. You sat on my heart and lungs, making it impossible to breathe or think about anything but you.  I was almost grateful when that ache ended, but it was replaced by tears that silently fell anytime, anywhere.  It’s like you were constantly wringing me out. You are cruel to the last drop. 

In the early days of our relationship, I longed for sleep. My body and mind were so done just surviving the day that I did sleep for a couple of hours, but then the nightmares began. I don’t remember the specifics of what you did while I slept, but I screamed so loudly that I woke everyone in the house. This lasted for weeks, then the nightmares were replaced by panic attacks. Maybe you got tired of the noise, so instead you tried to quietly suffocate me while I slept. I would wake gasping for breath, unable to calm my racing heart. Why? Does my pain feed you? 

I haven’t Googled you or looked you up in the dictionary. I haven’t bought a single book about you. I don’t want to get to know or understand you. I want you gone. I can’t compare my grief with anyone else’s. I just can’t. Comparison is a losing game anyway. If you’ve experienced grief, you’ve already lost. 

The days, weeks, and months pass. My heart is still broken. I still get angry. I’m still at your mercy. Then read this in a book that I have determined is decidedly not about grief:

“Love doesn’t protect us from grief. If anything, it makes grief all the more likely, because grief is love that has no place else to go. Grief is the love that remains after your friend has died. Grief is love that is still searching for home…”

“…grief is love that has no place else to go.” 

“Grief is love that is still searching for a home…”

Shit. I’ve been pushing you away for weeks and months. I’ve thought and said awful things about you. I’ve been so cruel.

Dear Grief, 

I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. I’ve been lost and searching too. You need a home, and I have a space. I wouldn’t choose you, but if love and grief are a package deal I have no choice. Honestly, the hate and anger were getting too much for me anyway. I’m a lover not a hater. Now that I’ve stopped running, we can sit down and get to know each other. We can remember together, but let’s go slow. I’m still so tender. 

Quote from Jeff Chu’s latest book Good Soil.