friday haiku {for Kristin}

two years, grief goes on
I pray for her hope and wings
afraid of nothing

::

Today marks the 2nd anniversary of the death of my dear friend/cousin's husband. I have never been so intimately acquainted with grief in another person and it is not what I imagined. It is not, I believe, what she imagined either. There is a quiet expectation that after caring for your soulmate through a long and painful illness there would be a reprieve, that life would get lighter. But the loss barrels in day after day as you attempt to live a different life alone, to parent small people without a partner, to not be overcome with fear. This is no easy feat. I admire that woman immensely for just getting out of bed in the morning.

A friend of mine wrote an article in the Tribune this week about grief and depression and quoted Tom Zuba, an author and motivational speaker who has suffered incredible losses. His words spoke to me:

"Accompany your friend. Create a safe place for your friend to be with his or her feelings, past, new life and, in time, new dreams," Zuba suggested. "Remember, you don't know how the person feels, but you can ask, 'What is it like to be you today?' And then make sure you set aside time to listen."

Last night on our weekly hangout night, I gave Kristin a framed photo of her girls on which I wrote these incredible words from poet Mary Oliver:

I am thinking now of grief
and getting past it;
I feel my boots trying to leave the ground.
I feel my heart pumping hard.
I want to think of dangerous
and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful
and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

I am thinking now of Kristin and wondering, on this awful anniversary, What is it like to be you today? I really can't imagine. No one can. But we can continue to set aside time to listen, to encourage dangerous and noble things, to bring lightness, to pray for wings and life without fear. That's what I'm praying.