The Double-Edged Sword of Grief

Slice on the forehand and the backhand. Dice with a downward stroke and an upward cut. The thing no one tells you about the grieving process is that its quite similar to a two-edged gladius. Yes, I’m claiming an emotion cuts like a double-edged sword.

She’s finally fallen off her rocker. What sane person would compare grief to a weapon? Perhaps one who is crazy with grief over the loss of someone irreplaceable.

Grief isn’t meant to be a weapon although it does hurt. The analogy isn’t based on the use of the sword but the quality of its edges. It is sharp. No matter how you touch it, you will bleed.

Ah, grief. No matter how you approach it, the edge is sharp and your heart pays the price in red currency.

Case in point: A photograph

Original image from Gospel Bondservant
Original image from Gospel Bondservant

Nothing especially hurtful about a picture of smiling people gathered around a Christmas tree. Except when you realize there can never be another one. Not starring the same cast.

Nope. Can’t recreate it next year. One important person will never attend another family gathering. That place is empty. Like my soul when I reflect upon it.

Looking at a happy moment brings a smile. Then a tear. It cuts both ways.

How can you smile at a time like this?

I have hope that pain is ended and vitality restored. No rainfall mars a walk and no nightfall ends a blissful gathering.

Who can not smile when envisioning such paradise?

Tears fall on the upturned lips. Rain showers on a sunny day. A paradox.

And still it aches. I’m laughing at the recollection but my heart squeezes into the empty juice glass. Grief draws blood during memories.

Case in Point: Success

A new day sheds rays of hope. Time marches onward. Goals can finally be checked off the bucket list. Accomplishments attained after decades of unfulfilled dreaming.

An un-mar-able moment, right? Joy sputters on the empty tank of a special someone no longer present to share it. Grief spills guts while life marches on.

Two edges, you see. If I remember, it hurts. Whether I recall it with laughter or tears, the wound is opened. In a forgetful moment, triumph blasts an exultant peal. Even in victory, defeat comes with the penetrating blade.

Eventually, I’ll find the protective sheath (a scabbard – because the wound will scab over?) for the sword of grief. Time and distance will dull the edge.

Thus another paradox is born. The dull knife hurts worse than the sharpened one.

Irony or agony? Don’t worry. There’s a double-edged sword for that, too.

What do you think? Add to the discussion here.