holding hands with melancholy

The bereaved cannot communicate with the unbereaved. (Iris Murdoch)

Sometimes the thing’s so intangible that it hasn’t happened, isn’t happening and in all likelihood, will never happen. Sometimes the road not taken winds itself around your neck and tightens till you can barely breathe. Dreams … perhaps it’s grieving lost, dead, miscarried or aborted dreams. It’s quite a hidden grief – other people might know some facts, but only you see the pain. Society hasn’t even got patience for the most real, physical, in your face grief – it certainly has no time for people grieving unborn, silent, invisible things. (It could be as literal as not having children.)


Dead dreams sit like stones in your gut. Sometimes they sneak up and suck all of the air out of your lungs, refilling them hurts hard. Unshed tears sit in your throat and cause a dull and breathless ache. You have no idea how to release the tears and crush the stones and let fresh air in again, so that you can just breathe without needing to be conscious of every damn inhale exhale breath.

On the whole, I don’t want to talk about my wounded ghosts – occasionally I do, with a close friend, but mostly not. Having at long last discovered the joy of not thinking about stuff, I’m applying it like bandaids all over the place. 40 freaking years of staring demons in the face, I deserve a break from the bastards. Occasionally I’m concerned that life could become all about distraction, with no substance. Mostly I’m just grateful to escape the grief tailback.

Not everything acquiesces to the tyranny of self help, positive thinking, inspirational quotes and crystals. Some wounds will bleed and bleed and bleed. Some with make ugly scars. Some need to heal well so you can keep on keeping on, but others sit quietly in the shade. Sometimes you meet it and weep a bit, and then you continue whatever you were doing before.


Everyone has to make their own way though heart things, but for me, I think I’m learning that, as with the other more tangible forms of grief, I have to make friends with it. Time certainly fades and/or heals some grief, but not all of it. We are so hell bent on forcing it out, that sometimes we forget it has priceless lessons to give us.

But however you need to navigate through it is the right way.

{Photos & memes by yours truly, so if there’s anything you want, help yourself.}

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