Grief and a Weathered, Leather Coat

Like a heavy, oversized, weathered leather coat. Ill-fitting, yet familiar. The stories this coat could tell. A broken zipper, a missing button, and tattered cuffs, with some of the color worn off. The edges a little more rough than the smoothness of the middle. Such is the coat. And our lives. Or grief.

Each pocket carries stories. Memories. A coin, a Kleenex, a piece of gum, chapstick, and perhaps some loose threads – wrapped around the random objects, binding them together in a way that doesn’t make any possible sense, yet all the sense the same.

The heaviness of this oversized coat feels unruly, yet like home. Uncomfortable, weight bearing, off putting, and restricting. Yet wrapping us in warmth, pressing memories against our hearts. Tap. Tap. Tap. The beat of each, rising to the heart’s surface. 

It’s unbearable. The weight and obstruction of this coat. Still, we’re hesitant to take if off. Fearing the cold, distance, and the unknown in the nakedness of it all. The space it puts between, then – and – now. Just like grief. 

Somehow, we’ve found comfort here. It’s become familiar. Worn in. Safe. We feel closer here. Together. And still. 

The time will come when we must shed the largeness of it all. It will be scary. It will create distance. Separation between what’s in the now and what’s just a memory. Over time, we’ll learn the memories will get lighter, sometimes harder to remember. We’ll reach for them, while also wanting to let go. We’ll want to remember, yet fear the times we do. And as consuming and isolating as that can feel, we learn to adjust to the change. We don’t always like it. But there’s a knowing. Knowing healing finds us both in the coat, and then the shedding of it. The healing finds us both in the closely held memories and the ones we’ve let float, hovering a little closer to the sun, like a balloon rising into the sky. 

The jacket. The grief. They wear the same. And there’s familiarity in that. Wear both as you need. Hold them close, move with them. And in time, they’ll both feel lighter. Some days we may even forget that we are wearing them at all. This is not necessarily the goal, but just the way we move through. Not to the other side, but to a lighter moment in time. One of which we feel a little bit healed, and yet not at all.

And isn’t that just the way of living. And loving. And grieving. The weight, the lightness. The hurry up and the wait, and the don’t go. The constriction and the freedom.

And. Both. 

It’s where it all lives. The grief and the healing. The smiles and the tears. Life. And death.

And.

Both.

Lean into it. Step back.

Wear it. Shed it.

Hold onto it. Let it go. 

Life. Love. Death. 

And. Both. All.