Shhhhh. If you listen, you can hear it.
The grief is swelling. It’s coming. I feel it in my loss of temper with kids, my impatience with those around me, my own sudden ugliness reflected in the mirror. The food is tastelessness. It no longer brings an 'ummm' to my lips when I smell and then place it on my tongue.
I can touch the grief in my pillow, in my restlessness, my late night pacing around the house. I want to rush it. I want it to come quickly so I don’t take a sleeping pill I don’t drink a glass of wine. I want to pull ,scratch and tear off a layer of my skin. I am agitated, can't focus. Nothing soothes. I stay up late, alternately waiting for and dreading it. If nothing comes my exhaustion tomorrow will bring it on.
And I look forward to after the release. I will feel pride and congratulate myself for passing through another moment when I wanted the sky and earth to close in on me, where I would rather die than feel the deafening, deadening loss.
When its over, I will smile to myself. I will see my beauty again. I will flex the newly built emotional muscle. The one that with the others inform my voice that says "Yes, you can get through anything."