As I’m writing this, the sound of a meadowlark is outside my window.
This is one of the triggers of grief for me. The clear notes of a meadowlark was the first to break the silence of my mornings for several days after losing my son. I wasn’t conscious of this until some time later. I began to make the association as I was strangely hurled back into the numbness of those weeks.
The meadowlark’s song used to be pretty.
But now it sounds forlorn.
I want to close the window. But such things cannot be shut out. They must be endured.
All who grieve will have triggers such as this. Sights, sounds, smells, and tastes.
We don’t “get over” grief.
We learn to live with it, recognizing it is now a part of our life.
Grief doesn’t own me now. I own it.
photo credit: kevincole / Foter / Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0)