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The importance of giving words to the sorrow

  • othersideofparadise
  • Jun 23, 2021
  • 3 min read

The rock in the yard under which part of Chip rests is nestled sweetly in the summer growth of the forest. I pass the rock every day on my walks with Rocky the Rockstar and his cousin Frankie, Eva’s 7-pound chihuahua/terrier mix. In the past month on my walks, I have reflected on how so much has happened…from the enormous to the mundane. The one-year anniversary of Chip's death came and went as did Father’s Day without him. Cicadas have landed on the rock and have died on it. The small tree that shades the rock (and me when I sit on it) has tried to spread its branches and push towards the sky against the canopy above. Rain has soaked the rock and the sun, along with gentle winds, have dried it. The thick woods, for better or worse, has blocked my view of the rock from my sunroom office.


The sun works hard these long days of summer, which means Chip shines on me a lot these days. Coming home from the gym this morning, it shined so brightly on me, and I felt his presence so strongly, that I refused to fold the visor down to block it while I sat at a long red light. I let Chip’s light pour over me and pierce me, opening my eyes with a squint for as long as I could tolerate and then closing them every so often to give them a break. I broke into tears as the grief surged up from thinking about Chip being up above rather than here on earth with me. I felt his loss immensely and released the grief the entire 11-minute drive home.


Upon returning home, I had to sit down and write about the grief. I kicked around a poem to write. I thought about writing “I miss you so much” on a sticky note and sticking it on my desk. I decided to blog.


I don’t know why I always get the urge to write when sadness wells up (I’ve written for this very reason since I was a teenager), but then I stumbled across a grief quote that comes out of MacBeth. Shakespeare wrote:

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”

Shakespeare’s understanding of the human condition, stemming from his profound observance of people, never ceases to amaze me, although I’m sure he saw enough death in his lifetime to understand grief fully. Instructor Stephan Flores informs us that “During Shakespeare's time, people's lives were often short. As many as one-half of the children born never lived beyond fifteen years and, thus, never reached adulthood. Also, the average lifespan of an adult was only thirty years.” To be sure, death in Shakespeare’s time was a much harsher reality when compared to today’s life expectancies with modern medicine. He knew all too well that if you don't air the grief, "it'll come back to bite you in the ass" (as my grief counselor. Cheryl, said to me many times in the 9 months she guided me on my grief journey).


Writing has, for this moment today, eased the deep grief of losing Chip. I will trudge on through my day without him physically present, but will see him in the Christmas lights that glow over my kitchen sink, in the light of the sun and in the stars that are promised to shine tonight. When it’s mostly dark tonight except for the starlight, I will remember what Fyodor Dostoevsky wrote in Crime and Punishment, “The darker the night, the brighter the stars, the deeper the grief, the closer is God!”


Amen and everlasting be his memory, and that's all she wrote.




 
 
 

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Thanks for being a part of remembering Chip. 

Other Side of Paradise

by Cindi Z. Stevens Copeland

Mail: czscope17@gmail.com.com

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