Keep a room for grief in your heart,
even if you like to pretend grief isn’t someone you know.
The room doesn’t have to be big, but you need to be able to sit there comfortably and maybe have a few guests,
soft chairs, a small table, something to write or draw with,
and of course a candle or two.
We all need gentle, warming light when we’re sitting in darkness.
You can tell those who have their own room for grief, visiting it when they need to. Grief Tenders listen closely when you talk, just as they’ve learned to listen to grief. When they speak, you hear the voice of someone who has sat quietly, often alone, with the hurt and tender parts of the world.
You sense that even though they don’t really know you, they would visit your room for grief, sit with you there in silence, or talking a little.
Most of us fear we’ll lose track of time, get stuck there, but grief doesn’t hold onto us aimlessly.
Grief reminds us where the door is, to get out into the sun, when it’s time.
I’ve carried my room for grief for several years now,
its silence comforts me.
I like to stand at the threshold, remembering the man I was when I first found this place, appreciating who I’ve become and the many steps I took to get here.
I don’t regret any time I’ve spent with grief.
When my heart returns to the soil,
|and all its rooms dissolve
griefs wisdom will still be with me,
wherever I go.
