Short Essays on Grief - Puja
Burn Last night, I fell asleep wishing for the world to burn. The truth is, grief did not make me strong or loving or heroic. It did not give me purpose. It did not provide reason. It did not give me clarity. Grief is grotesque. It ravaged me from the inside out. And when my grief bubbles up in my throat - I wish for the world to burn. Because I am shackled to my grief. It is a straightjacket of hopelessness, of anguish, of rage, of guilt. Burn . It would be easier if it all burned . Today, I woke up with a quieter grief. A quiet grief that is nestled deep in my bones. A grief that is one with the marrow. A grief that cradles me in her lap, whispering, someday you will see that I am love . It’s been five years since I said goodbye to you, baby brother. I didn’t think I'd make it 5 minutes. But I did. Then I didn't know if I'd make it in five hours, but I did. Then five days, five weeks, five months, and five years....
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