May 2017
They just don't understand.
It's fresh as that day for you.
Like the tingle of your hand when sympathy has squeezed it tight,
you're heart is holding on with all its might.
They just don't understand.
The need for a time machine.
When your heart demands what your mind knows to be impossible,
impassable grief sets in.
They just don't understand.
Loss is an unmapped journey, no chronology, no ETA.
Just finding your way.
They just don't understand.
So tell them not to try.
Just be an ear and a shoulder when you cry.
It's fresh as that day for you.
Like the tingle of your hand when sympathy has squeezed it tight,
you're heart is holding on with all its might.
They just don't understand.
The need for a time machine.
When your heart demands what your mind knows to be impossible,
impassable grief sets in.
They just don't understand.
Loss is an unmapped journey, no chronology, no ETA.
Just finding your way.
They just don't understand.
So tell them not to try.
Just be an ear and a shoulder when you cry.
Written for a friend who was deeply affected by the death if her father. Years later she struggled to deal with her loss and the waning compassion of others. So in typical Lainey fashion... I wrote her a poem.
