I just wanted to share a portion of something I wrote in a post recently about dealing with grief.
Do not ever let anyone get away with telling you to get over your grief. As if it’s something you need to transition from.
To the depth that you have loved is the depth you will grieve. That loved one has left a hole in your heart, one outlined by their shape, their memories and what could have been.
No one has the right to tell you to supplant what is essentially an integral part of who you are as a person. We need to learn how to reconcile the impact of who/what we lost, with the changed person we are now, because of that loss. It’s called mourning.
Whether it’s from a death; loss of a marriage, or even a job— we need to give ourselves the permission to process what has so deeply affected us; not just discard it in hopes of assuaging our (very real) pain.
(Apologies if this sounded like a rant, but grieving is hard work—no matter how long ago or how recent the loss has taken place). 😒
Stafford… you didn’t sound like you were ranting. You sounded like someone who’s carried grief long enough to know its weight down to the gram.
That line—“outlined by their shape, their memories and what could have been”—
God. That’s the kind of sentence that makes my ribcage feel less alone.
I wrote this poem because some griefs don’t scream—they rot. Quietly. Invisibly. They hollow you from the inside out until one day you realize it’s not healing—it’s gangrene.
Thank you for honoring that with truth, not platitudes.
For seeing the sacred in mourning without rushing it into resolution.
Honestly? This comment felt like a hand pressed to the bruise. Gentle. Knowing.
I’m glad I was able to provide some small portion of comfort for what I am sure has been an exhausting journey for you.
None of us asked to be connected by this common thread of grief, but at a minimum, we may on occasion be able offer support and encouragement when one or the other feel they are stuck or emotionally overwhelmed.
I pray you do have a support system that is close at hand; one that allows you to be your real, raw self, without fear of judgement. 😔
Thank you so much, your words mean so much to me. 🥺🥺 these 3 poems are very first ones that I’ve shared with “public” in 20 years. I have mixed feelings. 😆
I’m just so so happy to find even one soul who exists and feels on my own frequency. 🥹
Wow this is so devastating. Thanks for capturing this with such beautiful haunting words. “It's postmortem. It’s decomposition masquerading as healing” ✨
I just wanted to share a portion of something I wrote in a post recently about dealing with grief.
Do not ever let anyone get away with telling you to get over your grief. As if it’s something you need to transition from.
To the depth that you have loved is the depth you will grieve. That loved one has left a hole in your heart, one outlined by their shape, their memories and what could have been.
No one has the right to tell you to supplant what is essentially an integral part of who you are as a person. We need to learn how to reconcile the impact of who/what we lost, with the changed person we are now, because of that loss. It’s called mourning.
Whether it’s from a death; loss of a marriage, or even a job— we need to give ourselves the permission to process what has so deeply affected us; not just discard it in hopes of assuaging our (very real) pain.
(Apologies if this sounded like a rant, but grieving is hard work—no matter how long ago or how recent the loss has taken place). 😒
Stafford… you didn’t sound like you were ranting. You sounded like someone who’s carried grief long enough to know its weight down to the gram.
That line—“outlined by their shape, their memories and what could have been”—
God. That’s the kind of sentence that makes my ribcage feel less alone.
I wrote this poem because some griefs don’t scream—they rot. Quietly. Invisibly. They hollow you from the inside out until one day you realize it’s not healing—it’s gangrene.
Thank you for honoring that with truth, not platitudes.
For seeing the sacred in mourning without rushing it into resolution.
Honestly? This comment felt like a hand pressed to the bruise. Gentle. Knowing.
Thank you. Truly.
I’m glad I was able to provide some small portion of comfort for what I am sure has been an exhausting journey for you.
None of us asked to be connected by this common thread of grief, but at a minimum, we may on occasion be able offer support and encouragement when one or the other feel they are stuck or emotionally overwhelmed.
I pray you do have a support system that is close at hand; one that allows you to be your real, raw self, without fear of judgement. 😔
Stafford,
your words landed like a gentle hand on a fracture—
not to mend it prematurely,
but to say: I see where it broke.
Thank you for offering presence instead of prescriptions.
Grief is a quiet, rotting thing, and most people look away.
But you didn’t.
That alone is sacred.
Thank you so much, your words mean so much to me. 🥺🥺 these 3 poems are very first ones that I’ve shared with “public” in 20 years. I have mixed feelings. 😆
I’m just so so happy to find even one soul who exists and feels on my own frequency. 🥹
Wow this is so devastating. Thanks for capturing this with such beautiful haunting words. “It's postmortem. It’s decomposition masquerading as healing” ✨