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Gratefulness
Two nights after he died, all night I heard the same one-line story on repeat: I am the woman whose son took his life. The words felt full of self-pity, filled me with hopelessness, doom. And then a voice came, a woman’s voice, just before dawn, and it gave me a new shade of truth: I am the woman who learns how to love him now that he’s gone. It did not change the facts, but it changed everything about how I met the facts. Over a hundred days later, I am still learning what it means to love him—how love is an ocean, a wildfire, a crumb; how commitment to love changes me, changes everyone, invites us to bring our best. Love is wine, is trampoline, is an infinite song with a chorus in which I am sung. I am the woman who learns how to love him now that he’s gone. May I always be learning how to love— like a cave. Like a rough-legged hawk. Like a sun.
Posted by kind permission of the poet. Feature image by Maria P./Unsplash
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