I don’t really have anything profound to add. I’ve never lost a spouse, so I can’t pretend to understand what that kind of grief feels like. But I was really moved by your honesty. The parts that wrestled with God, the parts that made me laugh, the parts that hurt. It felt incredibly raw and human. Thank you for sharing it. ❤️
It's a dark comedy. The cat is symbolic here, it's doing the outsourced grief, the emotional work (or maybe just in heat? lol). Anyway, it's cool, you did this!
"The resistance to metabolizing actual grief is powerful. I think I’ll do what I do best: intellectualize and projectivize it."
This line stood out for me. I will think I'm metabolizing my grief and then get into my therapy session and realize I'm actually resisting it because I'll break down in the session. I didn't realize I too intellectualize and projectivize it, thank you for opening my awareness to this.
It's a testament to your writing that I relate to your grief, and the way you're moving through the challenges (the sleepless night, the wanting but hating to cook, enduring the cat sounds when you finally do get to sleep! It's my mother who died recently, in mid April, but your post made me feel less alone. Thank you.
Penny Sue, this is such a piercing and darkly funny account of grief’s refusal to behave the way ceremony, prayer, or even the mourner expects it to. The moirologist image works so well because it names that ache for the world to perform the scale of the loss when your own body cannot produce the tears on command. I was especially moved by the contrast between wanting the whole sanctuary to shake a fist at God and ending with that spare, almost evasive prayer, because it captures how grief can want divine attention while still resisting the exposure of being fully seen by God in heartbreak. The kitten wailing as the delegated mourner is unforgettable, and it gives the piece a strange mercy: when you cannot cry, when you cannot pray cleanly, when you cannot metabolize the grief directly, something nearby still makes the sound.
Your words remind me that God's magnificence will still be noted. If not me; if not the kitten; then the rocks (Luke 19:40). And I think honouring God is still relevant, even in the most devastating circumstances. Sometimes I think it's all about honesty before God.
I don’t really have anything profound to add. I’ve never lost a spouse, so I can’t pretend to understand what that kind of grief feels like. But I was really moved by your honesty. The parts that wrestled with God, the parts that made me laugh, the parts that hurt. It felt incredibly raw and human. Thank you for sharing it. ❤️
Hi Molly, thank you for taking a minute to leave such a kind note on my piece.
I agree! I'm grieving the loss of my mom, but her post really moved me.
I’m so sorry to hear about your mom. ❤️
Meow-rologist.
It's a dark comedy. The cat is symbolic here, it's doing the outsourced grief, the emotional work (or maybe just in heat? lol). Anyway, it's cool, you did this!
And underneath are the everlasting arms.
Love.
"The resistance to metabolizing actual grief is powerful. I think I’ll do what I do best: intellectualize and projectivize it."
This line stood out for me. I will think I'm metabolizing my grief and then get into my therapy session and realize I'm actually resisting it because I'll break down in the session. I didn't realize I too intellectualize and projectivize it, thank you for opening my awareness to this.
It's a testament to your writing that I relate to your grief, and the way you're moving through the challenges (the sleepless night, the wanting but hating to cook, enduring the cat sounds when you finally do get to sleep! It's my mother who died recently, in mid April, but your post made me feel less alone. Thank you.
Penny Sue, this is such a piercing and darkly funny account of grief’s refusal to behave the way ceremony, prayer, or even the mourner expects it to. The moirologist image works so well because it names that ache for the world to perform the scale of the loss when your own body cannot produce the tears on command. I was especially moved by the contrast between wanting the whole sanctuary to shake a fist at God and ending with that spare, almost evasive prayer, because it captures how grief can want divine attention while still resisting the exposure of being fully seen by God in heartbreak. The kitten wailing as the delegated mourner is unforgettable, and it gives the piece a strange mercy: when you cannot cry, when you cannot pray cleanly, when you cannot metabolize the grief directly, something nearby still makes the sound.
Your words remind me that God's magnificence will still be noted. If not me; if not the kitten; then the rocks (Luke 19:40). And I think honouring God is still relevant, even in the most devastating circumstances. Sometimes I think it's all about honesty before God.
🎶 Better Than a Hallelujah, Sarah Hart (https://open.spotify.com/track/7fCSa2UxELoq2LtAhIfPEj?si=bfb9069c372c4a59)
As always, @Rev. Kevin T. Taylor, I'm deeply moved and honoured by your reflective responses to my writing.