Someone once told me, or maybe I read it somewhere, that living with grief is like walking with rocks. Pockets full of impossibly heavy rocks. Little boulders. I pictured myself in cargo pants, lots of pockets, lots of rocks. I have to walk up the mountain with those rocks. I’ve wanted to stop, but I had to keep on going. Some days, I could only take one step. That’s it, just one. And then I needed to lie down. Thinking of Dragon, missing him with every fiber of my being, I had to sit down and cry. Sleep. Cry again.
But the next day, I have to wake up all over again, and this time, this day, I take two steps. The next day, the next week, maybe five. It is slow progress, but I just keep walking. Hannah is walking with me. Daniel is walking with me. I have a loyal group of family and friends that are walking with me. They can walk with me, and their company helps immensely, but I still have to carry my own rocks.
Eventually, I get to the top of a hill. That’s great. Look how far I’ve come! The good news is, I’ve made it to the top of the hill. It’s a nice view, from this hill. But the bad news is, the rocks don’t go away. The rocks will always be with me. But now, I’m learning how to walk with rocks.
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