“Madame and Monsieur Dyson were gone now. They’d crossed over to that continent where grieving parents lived. It looked the same as the rest of the world, but wasn’t. Colors bled pale. Music was just notes. Books no longer transported or comforted, not fully. Never again. Food was nutrition, little more. Breaths were sighed. And they knew something the rest didn’t. They knew how lucky the rest of the world was.” --From A Trick of the Light by Louise Penny
"It surprised him that his grief was sharper than in the past few days. He had forgotten that grief does not decline in a straight line or along a slow curve like a graph in a child's math book. Instead, it was almost as if his body contained a big pile of garden rubbish full of both heavy lumps of dirt and of sharp thorny brush that would stab him when he least expected it."--From Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson
These have resonated with me. But the truth is my findings are not limited to these two quotes. I have been hearing and seeing evidence everywhere of grief in the world, and I have decided two things. The first is that I am not the only person to grieve, nor is my grief the greatest--so many people endure difficulties beyond my ability to comprehend. The second is that talking about my grief may give voice to what someone else could be feeling.
I recognize that it is not always condoned to bare your soul publicly. I have heard private suffering praised, and admired those with "stiff upper lips." I have read Sense and Sensibility. But in spite of all that, I also know that expressing my grief not only validates the way I feel, but helps me slowly, when I'm ready, let go of it. And hopefully it might help someone else, somewhere else do the same.