the day Erin died, I
was struck with the selfish horror of
impermanence. It was
unbelievable to
me that
an unjust world would hand me this
sorrow. I was wracked with the inability to act, save,
think or
do, and I was devoid of the confrontation of my
limits and weaknesses. I could not
save her.
Now it’s been two years and the
sorrow I’ve
held has
loosened like
a tight balloon, it’s draped across my
ribcage like
an ever-present reality.
I still maintain the
ambitious goal to
make a difference, my
knowledge is now awakened that
I am bound by
limits. I could not
save her yet I
am trying to save
myself, from my limitations
I grow into a
compassionate weight
of my own, the circle
of grief listening, widening
as others cry their own
heaviness. I hold
them like I would hold
an umbrella: carefully,
fully knowing the
rain is falling off the thin
nylon surface. We feel
the rain but
do not
let it soak
in.