When you encounter grief-- an inevitable, unenviable part of the human condition-- you have a choice, I think. Defense seems imperative. The instinct to throw up a brittle wall of counter-emotion is universal, it seems; cynicism, anger, hurt, stoicism, heroism. But there is possibly another option.
It may be possible to soften to absorb the impact. What if instead, you unlock your knees, don't brace for impact, don't try to withstand the force and flood. What if you drink it in? What if you swirl your fingers through the flood of it and watch the eddies ripple outward, back towards the shore? What if you wade along, through it? Perhaps with your nose barely above the water line, your toes barely scrabbling along the stony bottom, but not fighting the current. Let it sweep you inexorably forward through the days, weeks, months. Then slowly, it may begin to ebb. You may find yourself washed gently up onto an unfamiliar shoreline, soft, re-formed.
Maybe this new destination will be Redemption.
