My heart is heavier than it was yesterday. I ‘m sadder. It’s hard to find creativity when my heart is the one thing that drives my passion to put words to paper.
Love for what I do pushes me out of bed every single morning. This morning the words came to me in a whisper when my body didn’t want to get out of bed: “Greatness isn’t given, it’s achieved.”
Although I wasn’t able to write, my heart just couldn’t, I wrote this piece instead.
I’m so sad for families who lost loved ones, who have to somehow put one foot in front of the other and negotiate the grief that lives in their hearts, somehow learn how to cope with a new normal.
I’m sad. I still smile, I still laugh, I can forget about what’s going on momentarily to enjoy a story, a conversation, a meeting, a good book.
Grief is the inability to listen. Grief is the ache we feel in our bodies that doesn’t allow us to get out of bed, to put food in our bodies, to sleep.
I’m sad. I’ll still make my children breakfast, get them to school, smile, give them kisses and tell them how incredibly much I love them. Give my husband an extra long hug before he leaves this morning.
Grief is not being about to see through the next moment. Your heart so broken you’re numb, unable to put a sentence together, unable to think rationally.
I’m sad. Kobe, his family, the other families who lost loved ones will drift in and out of my mind today and my heart will ache for what they’re going through, but it will fade because I’ll go to work and allow my mind to forget about it for a while.
Grief—forgetting isn’t an option. You wear it like a heavy wool coat that doesn’t allow you to stand.
I’m sad. But in a week, my heart won’t feel as heavy.
Grief is the fear that the pain, this brokenness will never fade and it controls what we say and don’t, what we do, and how we don’t operate.
Grief has seven stages. Shock and denial are first.
The seven stages of grief are the price we pay for love. The sadness is the price we pay for the compassion we have, empathy, for others. At one point or another in our life, we’ll know this type of grief, but for now, in this moment, we can give love instead of receiving.
The irony of it all is I pulled out some lines from my latest book a few days ago that I liked. Here’s the one that woke me up time and time again last night:
"While life has no guarantees, no predictability, the one thing that is always constant is love. No matter how much time we have, love deeper no matter the consequence."