Enough

      I have wondered where my grief has gone. I no longer have to wear waterproof mascara every day to prevent racoon eyes from crying. But I do not want to make the mistake again of suppressing tears, because when I do that, the stress morphs into tightness at the base of my neck. I was told all women store their stress there, but in my experience, stress goes to our problem area. For some it is their bad back, for me it is migraine related, for Reed it is diverticular pain. I know the grief is in there, in me, but I am experiencing it differently. I expressed this in the following poem.

 

            Enough

 

My grief is not the same now

as it was when it began.

It no longer feels like hands

wringing tears from my heart.

 

But still, there are times

when sorrow smothers me--

when there is not enough

water to satisfy my thirst,

food to fill my hunger,

air to draw a deep breath,

or room to feel unbound in.

These waves of grief

come almost unrecognized

but for those stifled sensations . . .

and the traitorous thought that

all of God's good gifts to me

will never be enough 

to make up for losing you.

My grief is not the same now

but my God still is,

and when sorrow engulfs me,

I must let Him be  Enough.

 

         7/13/23