I Swear You Will Be Fine

Grief is a shapeshifter. Sometimes Grief takes the form of what you were. Grief sits beside me in the bus, walks with me to school, and has lunch and dinner with me. This is a quiet version of Grief. He is constantly around me, silent but present, and I feel it heavy on my chest and loud in my mind.

Sometimes, or rather most times, Grief takes the shape of absence. And he isn’t there, but because he isn’t there, you feel him more. This version of Grief leads me to mourn your absence. I feel the loss of your presence ever so strongly, the absence of jokes only you could make, the absence of wisdom only you could impart, the absence of a part of me only you could bring out.

Sometimes Grief is the version of life I will never have with you. And I am left mourning the years that we never got, the life we were supposed to live. Those days I mourn the children we will never have, the jobs we will never experience, the days and nights of laughter, of love, of sadness, we will never have.

Sometimes Grief is my inner child, who felt so happy to be around you, and I am mourning the person I was with you, the comfort and safety only you gave me. You brought out a version of me I had never felt before – a happy me. I laughed louder than I ever had, so much that my face would ache at the end of each day. I laughed so hard with you that my face scrunched up in a way it has never been. You gave me hope of a better life, one filled with love and joy. With you, I thought “life is absolute shit now, but I endure every second of it for a moment with you”. You were my solace, my escape from the awfulness of life. Now, life is just the unbearable aftermath, with no shelter from the storm. Life has hit me so many times that when I look in the mirror, I see a shell of myself. It looks like me and moves like me, but there’s a newfound sadness in my eyes, a silence and heaviness that I carry with me. This is the Grief of my inner child, who now lies awake inside, longing to be happy again.

And sometimes, Grief is rage. A quiet, simmering anger at the unfairness of it all. At the clock that kept ticking when your heart stopped. At the world that kept spinning, unbothered, while ours collapsed. I rage against the things I will never get to say, the moments I will never get to have, the time that was stolen from us without mercy or warning.

Grief doesn’t ask for permission. It builds a home inside you, redecorates every room, and names the pain after memories. And even on days I smile or laugh, he is there, watching from the corners, reminding me of the joy I will never have, and the ache that will never leave.

But perhaps, the cruellest shape Grief takes on is love – love with nowhere to go. A thousand sent messages that you will never read, a million spoken words that you will never hear. Grief is bottled in a heart too full and a life too empty. So, I hold you, not in the way I wanted to, but I hold you, in every breath I take, in every tear I shed. You are on the tip of my tongue and the front of my mind. You live in the pauses between my thoughts, in the quiet moments no one else sees. And even in your absence, you shape the way I move through the world. I sat with my Grief long enough until he told me his real name was just unexpressed love with nowhere to go.

He may never leave, and I may never be the same. But as much as this Grief consumes me, I would do it all over again for a chance to love and be loved by you. Grief may be what’s left, but love is what remains. Can’t wait to see you again. I love you more, always, and forever.

Love always,
Sha