Convoluted Grief

I walked the dogs yesterday and this caught my eye.

The forgotten remnant of a weekend race, this sign intrigued me.

It didn’t read, “Half-way,” or, “Final mile,” with an arrow.

Oh no, this sign was full-on existential: “Turning point.”

How many times in grief have I thought, “Ok, I’ve worked through this. I’ve processed it.” I’d put the trauma or guilt or anxiety in a box on a shelf and think it would stay there. That I was at the turning point.

And then a week or month later I’d have to take that box back down and re-sort the contents.

Grief is a convoluted maze. It’s cooked spaghetti thrown against a wall. There are many turning points.

Sometimes in grief it can feel like you’re right back where you started, but it’s important to remember you’re not—each leg of the journey you learn a little something more. About your self. About your grief.

Image: Deep Run Park