Grief, My Teacher and My Healer
Updated: Jan 28, 2023

Grief, please break me open.
While I want to ask you to be gentle,
I know that there is no other way than to surrender to your force.
Please, break through my resistance, my misguided attempts to control.
Open the floodgates,
and wash through me,
allowing the screams, the wails, the tears.
This loss that I Am feeling demands to temporarily break me,
for I Am torn apart
by the torrential pain
of everything I feel
in my loss.
My internal earth has quaked, and I can no longer hold back the tsunami.
Divine Love, please surround me and hold me.
Even though I will deny your existence because I feel terribly alone and fundamentally destroyed,
I know you are containing my implosion.
Self-Love, help me to breathe, to be kind to myself,
to feed myself, to bathe myself, to hold myself.
Help me receive the sustenance, safety, and help that is around me,
in whatever form it comes.
Help me surrender,
and demand my time and space to feel,
to be a mess,
to experience my worthiness of taking up space while doing so.
Please create a surrender that is so real,
that I ask for,
nay, even demand
help.
I pray that I may receive it with grace and trust.
I pray that the grief
that was created because of love,
and the love that is created through the grief
will lead me
eventually
to turn my face to the warmth of the sun
in the dawning of a new day.
Through my grief, may I let go.
Through my grief, may I let love in.
May my grief
eventually
have its blessed way
of washing me clear
of all of my sorrows
so that all I will know is love.
Through my grief,
may I experience
something greater
that is
and that
I AM.
Amen
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Reading your piece reminded me of the summer after my dad passed away. I had always thought grief would be a single, crushing wave, but it turned out to be more like a tide that ebbs and flows, sometimes pulling me under and other times leaving me breathing on the surface. In those quiet evenings, I found myself sitting on the porch, watching fireflies, and it was there—alone with the night—that I began to hear my own thoughts more clearly https://www.spinsamurai65.com/ The ache was still there, but I started to notice small moments of gratitude: the smell of fresh coffee, the way my sister’s laugh could still make me smile, the way a song on the radio would suddenly feel…