grief, poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

All Is Not Lost

All is Not Lost

What is grief but another form of love?

Without pain, is life truly well lived?

These are the questions I ask myself, crying Why deep in the night.

Well lived means well-loved, means well-worn, and sometimes worn out. Read between the lines of worry and sadness.  It’s ok to be tired sometimes. Rest is respite, not weakness.

What is it that keeps us going, to love again and again, in so many ways? The longer one loves, the deeper the grief of love lost. We are so good at it now, we even have anticipatory grief. The great and wise “They” tells me.  Who knew?

I do know this:  Once loved, we will never be truly lost. You will live in my heart, memory and soul, and  I in yours. We are memories, we are words on a page, to be read and reread, and even when I am lost and grieved, our stories will live on to be told and retold, from the tender lips of our children’s children.

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