I went to a writing workshop the other night. Before we began we went around the table introducing ourselves and who we had lost. As these woman spoke my heart ached. Here they were loss of husband, father, fiancé, a child. Some experiencing anticipatory grief. No matter. These were my people. I was at home with my tribe. As the exercises continued you could hear woman who most likely kept to themselves speak openly and rawly. The interaction through body language said it all. We were honoring our grief and sharing to help the one next to us rebuild. When we got to the writing portion the presenter offered a real depiction of how grief was for him. Speaking of real and heart wrenching details most keep hidden. The spark. As he finished I immediately put my headphones in and opened my notepad. Crash. First the thoughts driving to the event. Crash. Evolution and criticism. Crash. A letter to my son. I could hear women sobbing seats away even over my music. No mind. They cope in their own way. Not right or wrong. I cry quite differently but for that I am grateful. I know when the tears come they are meant to fall and have learned not to fight it. This was grief. This was a family of understanding without knowing each other at all. My tribe. My fun, quiet, somber, lively, real and raw tribe.
My heart was full ❤️