I tried to decorate my Christmas tree tonight, but I couldn’t do it. Somehow all the grief that I had been holding at bay crashed through the dam and into my living room when I hauled out the boxes of lights.

I can’t stop crying. It feels unjustified. I didn’t know those people. Those were not my children. I don’t even have children, so ought not to be able to empathize like this. But my heart is bursting, and my eyes overflowing.

Little Spirits

One feels so helpless. Why waste the breath on the “why, why’s,” when you know that no answer will be forthcoming? At least not on this side of the veil between life and death.

God brings good out of bad? OK, let’s see this one…

The tears feel fruitless. Especially shed alone, here in my sad, undecorated living room. And yet I cry. I know that my tears join a river that runs to Newtown, Connecticut. I pray that they are somehow of comfort to someone, that the grief I bear tonight might somehow lighten theirs a tiny bit. Just to know. Someone is crying for you. Someone and someone and someone….

Grief is a mysterious thing. It defines our shared humanity so fully. It’s good to share, and so I cry for us all.

God bless those little spirits…

“Tears are the silent language of grief.”

Voltaire

If you’re sad this season, too, you might want to read my last post on coping with grief:
All is Not Merry in Connecticut « melanielynngriffin.

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