1000 Small Sorrows

     When a loss first happens, there is big sorrow, a time of great grieving, but most of the grief happens in small, daily doses. A few weeks ago I lost my granddaughter, McKenzie, not to death, but when my son and her mother broke up. I cried. . . hard. . . a couple times. But now I have reached the phase of small sorrows:

• seeing her picture on the wall and wondering if I will ever see her again
• looking with longing at Woodland Park, where she loved to play 
• seeing the fruit roll ups she loved to eat in the cupboard
• finding the playdough we made together in the crayon box 
• driving past the part of town where she lives
• finding out her mother did not let her continue dance lessons I paid for
• hearing the music from "Frozen"
• seeing the blue shirt I bought for her birthday and never got to give her
• realizing we will not be going to the swimming pool or lake together this summer
• wondering how McKenzie is dealing with her feelings with fewer coping skills
• . . .

     These are the 1000 small sorrows that heal my grief on a daily basis. But it doesn't feel like healing. It feels like reopening a wound.