On Grief
"What we call 'death,' is but the painful metamorphosis." - Edgar Allan Poe
“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.” - Jamie Anderson
Of the greatest mysteries of the psyche, the grieving process seems to me the most peculiar. No matter how much we attempt to explain it, rationalize it, or stage it - grief is as unique to each of us as our very own fingerprints.
In my profession, I am blessed with extraordinary moments where life meets death at every turn. I could be in a room, counseling a mother that her child with a fever will fair well, and in a moment, be holding an infant as they transition out of this life. It is a daunting task, no doubt, but what a blessing it is, to forever be on the cusp between life and death; a humble reminder of the fragility of life, and the impermanence of things.
And with that, I am faced with the challenge to grieve constantly. Grieve over my patients. Grieve over their death, their pain, their woes. Grieve with my colleagues, or for them. Grieve the potential life unlived, what could have been, and what if I had done things differently?
And while certainly, grieving the dead is painful, sometimes grieving the living is most excruciating. The memories of the dead haunt us, but the magic healing of time and the mystery of our memories tend to heal those wounds. The memories of the living you were forced to grieve, forced to relive, however, never stop haunting you.