Me: What? Yeah, you can visit for a while. But I can’t see you very well. Come in out of the shadows … Wait. Who else is with you?
Grief: My family. My father Death; Mother Loss; Sister Disease; Brother Injustice; Cousins Anger, Disappointment, Regret, Resentment …
I only invited you.
We stick together—me and my family.
Well … come on in. You can come through the living room, but if this is an overnight, you’ll have to stay in the back room.
The back room? I deserve a better place than your dusty old back room. Why can’t I stay in your living room?
I prefer other company.
You can’t pretend I don’t exist. You can’t ignore me. If you ignore me, there will be repercussions with the Cousins, maybe even with Sister.
Don’t threaten me. I’m not ignoring you. I’m simply keeping you where you belong. You don’t get to be free range in my domicile. You’re only in the living room for a short conversation, because I invited you.
What about your precious Joy? She gets to come and go as she pleases.
I like her better. I prefer Joy to Grief.
You can’t truly know Joy without knowing Grief.
Maybe, but since I know both, I prefer Joy.
I always get a bum rap.
Not really. Plenty of people prefer you to Joy. You make them feel important. They let you be queen of their domicile. I’m not one of them.
You have to admit that I have influence, though. Like the other evening at Kathy’s party, or when you wake up in the middle of the night and find me in bed with you….
Yes, there are times when you loom large. Kathy’s party, celebrating her 70 years of life, telling stories of our decades of friendship and shared work. Suddenly you shoved your way in, forcing me to feel the emptiness that is Mike’s absence. The pure tenor voice, absent from the “Happy Birthday,” song. The silly, animated version of Mike’s famous party hokey-pokey, absent. In the midst of warmth and laughter, you and emptiness were, momentarily, my only reality.
It’s taken a long time for you to recognize me. When your father died, I couldn’t even get through the door, much less find a place in your living room.
I was busy with the cousins—Anger, Disappointment, Abandonment….
You had all those armed guards around your place—special instructions to keep me out.
Yes. Well, it turned out I had to banish the guards. They were arming for a hostile takeover and … Hey! Hey! What are you doing?
Unpacking. The guards are gone.
No, you don’t! Out of the living room. You’ve been here long enough for one day. And take your family with you! You’ve got way bigger jobs to do. Make your way to the people who are sick and hungry, to the ones fighting wars, the ones being tortured and abused. My grief is petty in comparison. Out!
Have it your way. But I’ll be back. You can count on that!
I know. You are always hovering, waiting for that moment when the door opens and you can rush in.
Yep. And don’t sell me short. I have many keys to that door—the smell of morning coffee, the red wool jacket still hanging in the closet, the morning surprise that the warm body you wake to is only a dog. So many keys to the door.
Yes, but you’ll have to keep the visits short.