Grief is a river that now wanders
through my life. Flowing from a white-capped mountain’s loss it can seem a
gentle stream that belies swift currents building as the river takes its form.
Grief is a river fed from the
streams of memories that lay hidden beneath the surface, feeding into the flow
at its appointed time. Sometimes a trickle of laughter-filled reflections or at
times a torrent of tender tears rush to fill that river that winds its way
through my days and nights.
Grief is a river whose eddies
hold moments both fearsome and restful, waterfalls of emotions, meandering
miles of reflection.
Grief is a river that needs
to flow. Holding the river back, I can create what seems a peaceful
respite. Then a storm rages, the banks
overflow, and grief pours uncontrollably through unguarded recesses of my
heart. Grief is a river that needs to
flow – to tumble and purify over the rocky places; to seep into dry, barren
places where love was forgotten, where forgiveness is needed; sediment memories transforming to silt as the
river moves its way down to the estuary.
Grief, though fed with ever-pouring tributaries of life’s history, is a river that has its destination. The river heads relentlessly toward release.
Grief is a river that marks
and maps my life yet in its movement renews and changes the landscape of my
Grief is a river that needs to flow.
In memory of Ann Hutchison Peake
Labels: Allen Peake, Ann Peake, George Peake, grief, Kathy Peake, Merwin Peake, river, Susan Jones