Her service, or the laying-in ceremony as Recompose calls it, was Friday, just two days ago. The ceremony was poignant and beautiful, and I want to write about the experience, but I’m still processing it.
After the ceremony, one of her friends told me, “Grief isn’t linear.” And this is where I’m struggling. I suppose I view grief as an illness, some terrible disease with a predictable sequence of symptoms, and, after some time, the patient improves and carries on with their life. But grief isn’t like that, of course. Grief is unpredictable, and I’m beginning to learn that each day should be the focus, and I need not be concerned about stacking good days, as if this will earn me less grief time.
Is there therapeutic value in forcing myself to look at photographs of her? This evening, I felt the urge to see her face. And as I looked at image after image, I began to cry. And in the pit of my chest, I felt the naked impact of her being gone forever. And her death still stuns me.