Even the word feels heavy
I’ve been lucky enough to never have to grieve the loss of a loved one stolen by death
But what do we do about the ones we grieve who are still living?
The ones who there is still a possibility we could run into on some side street somewhere?
What about the ones we run into because we both happened to go to what was our favorite restaurant, years later at the same time?
How does one greet the living dead?
With a smile? Or a hug?
That’s what I didn’t and I wish I hadn’t.
But I’ll be gentle with myself and I hope you will too, because nobody really taught us how—
How do you carry the memories around?
Where do the memories go? They never seem to float away and even though they fade
They still seem to stay
Once the specifics fade and we think we’re safe
We smell their perfume on a stranger
How the grief thing lingers
And in that instant were transported
and the corpses are thwarted and given new life
It’s all in your head, they’re dead
After all they’re not even here or anywhere near you
But for that fraction of second
grieving what could have been
And what was
But that’s all romantic
What’s truly insidious is seeing your loved one seem alive and be dead
Because they too still grieve and bleed
from their own old living dead.
And they can’t help it
After all, nobody taught us how
I am here
To give reprieve and ease the tension and aggravation from grieving the living dead