Grief is a river that now wanders through my life. Flowing from a white-capped mountain’s loss it can seem a gentle stream that belies swift currents building as the river takes its form.
Grief is a river fed from the streams of memories that lay hidden beneath the surface, feeding into the flow at its appointed time. Sometimes a trickle of laughter-filled reflections or at times a torrent of tender tears rush to fill that river that winds its way through my days and nights.
Grief is a river whose eddies hold moments both fearsome and restful, waterfalls of emotions, meandering miles of reflection.
Grief is a river that needs to flow. Holding the river back, I can create what seems a peaceful respite. Then a storm rages, the banks overflow, and grief pours uncontrollably through unguarded recesses of my heart. Grief is a river that needs to flow – to tumble and purify over the rocky places; to seep into dry, barren places where love was forgotten, where forgiveness is needed; sediment memories transforming to silt as the river moves its way down to the estuary.
Grief, though fed with ever-pouring tributaries of life’s history, is a river that has its destination. The river heads relentlessly toward release.
Grief is a river that marks and maps my life yet in its movement renews and changes the landscape of my heart.
Grief is a river that needs to flow.
In memory of Ann Hutchison Peake