Fighting the dragon with words

Published in ILLUMINATION

Fighting The Dragon With Words

“No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear.” C.S. Lewis

Dear Grief,

I’m writing a letter to you since you aren’t picking up on my signals. You’re like a clinging boyfriend who refuses to accept that it’s over.

Haven’t you noticed that I change the subject when you get too heavy? I walk out of the house to get away, but you tag along like a little child, pestering me… asking endless annoying questions. If I were wearing a skirt, you’d be tugging on it.

Now I’ll be direct: Can’t you leave me alone?

I don’t see you clearly… but you are a presence. So many days and nights you’re a weighty one, like an anchor. You’ve dug deep into the silty bottom, and you’ve become immovable. Forcing me to become immobile for hours and stare. I beg you to loosen your grip. On those days, when I was in that boat with you, I tried to free myself and cut through the heavy rope with a knife. Then the rope morphs into a chain holding the anchor. I toss it down hard on the bow, and give up, usually in tears.

For a few hours, you drift away. I am joyful. I look up at the sky thinking “I am free.” But never for long. You sit perched like a vulture, then dive down fast, right at me. You make my dog bark at you when you do that.

You operate in silence and stealthy shadows making me imagine you as some kind of rodent, no: a reptile! Especially when you slink around, just when I am forgetting for a while. I’m driving along singing to my music when out of the corner of my eye I see you slither across the empty seat. I despise you when you sneak up that way. You make me shiver like I’ve seen a snake.

It’s when you’re mouse-like, quiet, and still, except for those beady eyes staring at me. And I feel like I’m going under, deep dark water. After a brief breathless panic. I don’t care about anything, don’t feel anything. Numbness sinks in, except for your constant pulling, and nudging. I’m afraid I might stay under. I think maybe, in your own way, you are trying to save me from drowning.

Sometimes I want to yell at you: “Leave me the hell alone!”

I’ve grieved and grieved but you say, “There’s more you’re not finished yet.” Then you become a starving large animal with thick dirty matted tufts of black hair, who cannot get enough. Insatiable beast, like Grendel. I want to be Beowulf and fight you off forever. You leave that shaggy fur all over my clothes. But, all I have is a lint roller, no weapon at all. I clean and clean like Lady Macbeth, but can’t get it all. Always a few stray hairs catch in my eyes.

Are you taunting me? Sometimes I have a full afternoon feeling joyful, and taking in a beautiful day or rainy afternoon and I think you went away: gone. Thank God!

But the day is not over. You put your paw on me on my knee, nudge me with your nose and say, “It’s time to go back to grieving.” My happy time is over. There’s more to do, more and more.

Just tell me, when will it be enough?