Grief

Here’s a little piece I wrote based on The Angry Hourglass’s prompt below:

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No little flower, no little offering of peace can change the fact she just left, left with the oldest to go look for another place to live while the youngest sleeps and the middle child stews silently watching you-tube videos. Little else hurts more than when you—you who, while you know you are not perfect and you are trying to get better—realize you are not as good a person as you think you are.

And what happens when you have held inside you a sadness so fathomlessly deep that were it all to come out even Noah may not survive? And what when that sadness is dammed by walls made of shame? The disease festers, that’s what happens.

And you turn into something.

That something very few see, the something only visible behind closed doors. And slowly it seeps into those you love—resentment, anger, loneliness, and isolation. Yes, I am the disease and the disease is I and I pass it on silently as it was passed on to me.

Only with the reality of things put before my eyes did I finally, at long last, speak of that shame and the source of that shame. But in the end, too little too late and they are off searching for a haven from the monster.

So of course there is sadness now, for the home will soon fall silent. No more laughing, no more talking, no more yelling, no more crying. At least not the others, at least as far as I will know. No, the tears will be all mine and if I know my house, I am sure I will cause more water damage. At least the carpets were torn up after the last big rain.

I have walked many a steps, but not far enough. They are simple steps really and all I had to do was put one foot in front of the other. But I dragged my feet and this is the result. I feared change, I discovered some time ago. So I took some steps. But did not walk far enough. Now the change is there in front of my face.


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