Woke up today heavy hearted. Heavy limbs. Heavy the fingers that must type type type.
I wanted to be comforted, but needed to be alone. The dissonance was physically unsettling. Shoulders hunched up, brows furrowed, I sat in my corner, streamed music, and attempted to work.
At lunch, I was drawn to take a walk to Greenwood Cemetery, a historic piece of land. The desire to move and get outside of my body outweighed my worry of leaving. I tried not to overthink it as I placed on my “outdoor” clothes and mask.
The majestic tree below welcomed me, light petals swirling around its base before settling to the ground. The entrance closest to my home is usually closed, but they kindly opened it so the public could have another green space to gently use.
Knowing a cemetery provided more solace than going to the park added to the surreal feeling, but I needed it today.
The winding pathways reassured me here I could blend in, here I could mourn, here I could be sad or just be.
I walked aimlessly through narrowed paths and sought the beauty of blooming trees amongst the fallen. I meditated on what it means to let go, to lose.
The door of grief opened and I walked right through it.
I grieved my cousin. I grieved Bernie dropping out of the race. I grieved the honeymoon plans I had this week. I grieved the sheer loss happening in NYC every day and the shock their families and friends must be feeling. I grieved the massive budget cuts to NYC public schools.
I walked up to a giant magnolia tree and watched it closely. It swayed in the breeze and looked so sure of itself.
Did it feel pain as the leaves shed? Did it feel sad as it lost its thick layers?
Or did it feel lighter knowing it was all part of the cycle of regrowth?