Today I'm still broken. I'm blatantly obvious pieces that have been glued together just strong enough to hold, because I have to.... I feel like my ears have been ringing for a month... I have been worried about the hurt of the heart that can be so easily hidden behind the curve of a smile. I have been being relying on the words of a woman who doesn't know even know she's my counselor... but she's pulling me through this grief. She's pulling me through, she's dragging me through all of that which rips my soul apart. And she knows it's what I need. And she knows that to repair yourself you have to feel all that's inside of you. That to tear yourself apart is ok if there are things you're holding onto that are cutting you from the inside out. I feel gutted. I feel stranded. I feel lost. I'm holding onto a dry-rot rope knowing it's about to fray and split. Dangling over the drop... and I know I need to let go. I know that I need to fall so that I can start this climb over. Again. And I know that this probably won't be the last time.
Today I integrated some of my grandfathers plants in with my own. I thought I was going to be ok... I know that my "ok" really isn't anything close to ok.. that it's more of a hold yourself together and don't lose it completely while your neighbors can hear you, "ok." The kind of "ok" that you force yourself to be so that you can be strong for others "ok.." but there wasn't anyone there to hold myself together for. Quite frankly, I've been riding on that kind of "ok." I've had to. For my own sake.
And so I lost it. And I had to come back to that note, from that amazing woman, and read it again. Because I wonder if I'll ever heal. Because the world feels quiet and incredibly loud all at the same time. Because, deep in my heart, I wanted to cry more. I needed to. And I wanted to know what it was about that letter that shattered me into so many tiny pieces every time that I read it.
"Be kind to yourself. There isn't a right way to do grief. Your art is a reflection of your soul. You are perfect, but you aren't. Who really wants to be perfect. You are brave, you are strong. And if you can convince someone on another continent that you are all of these things, you're pretty fucking special. I love your grandfather too. For how much he gave you. For the influence that shaped you. Because he loved you a whole damned lot. And honey, that's so good. But you already know that. Because I think he would have loved you so hard that you couldn't forget. From great love comes huge sadness. But holy fuck. The great love was so good xx"
...It's one thing to greive for how much we loved the ones that we have lost. It's another to sit and truly understand how much the lost had loved us. And that's why I am filled with so much sadness when I read this letter... That's the part that makes my bones hurt deep in their marrow. That's the part that makes me feel like I have to remind myself to today to breathe. Because I was loved. So truly. So deeply. So dearly loved.
Thank you Kylie.