When you hear the word Grief it is typically in the context of someone mourning a loved one who has passed away.

Not for me; I have a complicated relationship with my emotions.

I feel “too much” for “too long”; that’s what people tell me anyway.

When I love someone, I love them with everything I am so when they’re gone I lose myself.

Who am I without them?

Who am I if I am not texting or calling them?

Who am I if I am not doing something to make them happy?

When I was younger, I experienced this with almost every guy who ever left my life.

My mother never said it but I could see the fear in her eyes when a break up was near.

She knew I was moments away from entering hibernation. She was about to lose her daughter for months in the chaos she called a bedroom without food or sunlight.

It was a pattern.

The Darkness has always called to me after loss, she filled the void of the person I missed.

She was a Siren and I didn’t need to hear her song to know she was near.

My body would stop craving food and I would want for nothing but a deep slumber.

She was cold but comforting.

I knew I could count on her when I needed her and because of that I was willing to surrender at her feet.

It was never more than a few months before someone or something coaxed me out of this toxic relationship I had with her.

That is, until I experienced Grief after death.

At the age of 25, I had never lost someone really close to me.

Then, I did.

I remember getting the call a month prior about her cancer diagnosis.

I hung up and crumbled on the side of the road in my car.

The stubborn, strong, beautiful woman who helped raise me had cancer.

That same week, with my family I drove 12/14 hours straight to Chicago.

Arriving at that hospital was surreal.

I couldn’t remember her ever being sick.

Even when arthritis would take her hands she would let it be known she had feet to kick you with.

Now, she was in a hospital bed; sleeping, always sleeping.

Days of being there, I got to actually talk to her only a handful of times.

It didn’t matter. She knew I was there. She knew I would paint her finger nails for her. She knew, now I was old enough to be there for her.

At the end of our trip, just minutes before we were heading for home she took a turn for the worse.

I can still hear the machines and see everyone rushing to her side. I can still feel my heart breaking and the lump in my throat.

It has stayed with me for ten years.

She looked in to my eyes and lied right to my face.

She told me to head for home; that everything was going to be okay. It wasn’t.

Things only got worse. She wasn’t able to speak anymore after that visit.

A few weeks later it was my birthday.

We had a tradition: She would call me before anyone else had the chance to and sing to me in broken English. There was always a card or small package in the mail to let it be known she loved me.

She couldn’t speak but I got my call.

There was no song but I knew what her breathing meant.

She held on for me and came through one last time.

A few days later she was gone and a small part of me went with her.

The Darkness came for me before the news had a chance to be processed.

She came without warning.

I didn’t have the chance to prepare.

This time, she didn’t let go.

She made me adapt to a world that she was a part of. The Darkness wasn’t a block of time I got to be coaxed out of anymore. She wove herself in to my life like a well done blanket. There was no warning before I would find myself choking on tears and gasping for air.

What I didn’t realize is she had become best friends with someone else….

Her name was Anorexia.

In the depths of my pain and longing I didn’t realize that I had started to abuse diet pills and mainly survived off of alcohol.

I was coping.

I was making it through.

I was a skeleton.

I was losing my hair.

And I had never felt more loved by the masses.

All the attention and worship soothed her.

She was less aggressive.

She became a permanent part of me.

We learned to coexist.

We learned boundaries.

We learned to eat together.

We even learned what real love is.

We walked down the aisle to get married intertwined like DNA.

What a beautiful, dissociated day.

Our relationship was smooth and on cruise control.

We had some wonderful years, before it all went to shit.

Coco.

That was her name.

I adopted her after yet another heart break, when I was looking for pure love.

Coco was pure love (to a select few).

I had never felt love like this before.

Yes, that includes my family.

This love was unconditional.

This love was free of judgment.

This love accepted me and my darkest secrets.

We shared almost six years loving each other.

On February 26th, 2017 she died.

I never considered that there would be a day that she could no longer be with me.

It came; too soon.

She was in perfect health, began limping, became paralyzed and had to be put down all within 7 days.

SEVEN DAYS.

Again, she didn’t give me time to prepare.

My husband and I stood in a vets office pooling together our credit cards to max out for surgery before she broke down and told us surgery wouldn’t help her.

I fell to the floor.

Crying.

Gasping for air.

Feeling my heart darken.

The waiting room knew.

They knew that the person who walked in wouldn’t be the one to come out.

I could hear the abrupt silence pounding in my ears.

My husband and I had never cried together before.

We didn’t share words.

It was all in one look.

We sat by her side as a family.

Our final embrace.

She snuggled in to my favorite scarf and together we leaned in to my husband’s arms.

We rubbed her ears and beautiful face while the vet injected her.

She didn’t know we were betraying her while whispering that we loved her.

Her breathing got slower and slower until she was gone.

I held her stiff 15lb body in my arms and cried for what feels like a life time.

Every person in that waiting room looked at me when we left that room.

I could see the cracks in my reflection forming as we passed the mirror.

Who am I now?

This pain was different than before, it was worse.

That may sound fucked up to a lot of people.

Like I said, I never felt love like this before.

How do you move on or heal the guilt after taking your best friend’s life away?

I never have.

This Darkness was new.

I didn’t walk in to the room she would spend all of her time in.

I isolated from my family completely.

I cried every moment I was awake and avoided the window she would greet me in.

Just writing this, the day before the anniversary makes me feel sick.

I was never one to seek out help when The Darkness came.

I simply let her have her way with me.

This time, I had a partner.

He, like Coco, knew the dark parts of me.

He knew that I was submissive to the Siren’s call.

I got help.

A LOT of help.

I saw multiple specialists (Therapists, Readers, Mediums, Guides, Shamans etc.).

After a shit ton of work on myself, I was me again.

Not the co-existing version, but me.

I was healing.

I was training to become a Shamanic Practitioner.

I was experiencing a new relationship to death.

A healthier relationship.

An understanding one.

A bitch might even be enlightened.

January 27th, 2021 my grandfather passed away.

I heard the Siren call.

She warned me.

She was far enough where I could still get away.

I did.

I broke down and cried.

My husband packed up our life and we made our way to Long Island to be with my family.

I just needed to be with my Dad.

Being around my parents, sisters, aunts, cousins and grandmother was what I needed.

It wasn’t about me.

It was about all of us.

We shared stories.

We laughed.

We cried.

We grieved.

A week of being on Long Island came to an end and back Upstate we went.

I was sad to leave my family but was grateful for the time.

Something new followed his death and I didn’t realize it until a month ago, on the anniversary.

In the past, a death like this would trigger everything inside of me.

I would crumble, let my Anorexia back in, and surrender in to The Darkness.

What do I do now?

I am a Healer in years of ED recovery!

Now what Grandpa?

Well this is what-

I over corrected.

I stepped in to a healthier lifestyle, and monitored/limited physical exercise (since I am addicted).

I launched a business.

I worked and kept a positive attitude.

I did my daily spiritual practice.

I still felt him around.

Things were good.

I was thriving!

Wasn’t I?

That’s a big fat NO.

Granted, The Darkness wasn’t healthy, It incapacitated me.

However, This wasn’t healthy either.

When I got home last year, I flipped a switch.

He didn’t die.

I can feel him around (courtesy of my practice).

I can tap in and feel close to him whenever I want.

Except, I stopped practicing.

I was hiding from the truth.

I was hiding from the pain that I knew was capable of consuming me.

I was hiding from him.

Last month my family gathered for the anniversary.

I live far and I wasn’t going to make it but I didn’t need it to feel connected.

I spoke to my family and checked in and then did absolutely nothing.

I would normally tap in, light candles, get snacks and flowers.

I couldn’t.

I didn’t.

After a few days of real self reflection, I realized what I had done.

Terrified, I made my cup of Cacao and sat down in front of my altar. I didn’t get a chance to open my mouth before the tears poured out.

I apologized for ignoring his death after the funeral.

I apologized for not checking in with my practice.

I apologized for ignoring him.

I apologized for being too afraid of the pain.

I fell to my knees and confessed that I was lost.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT I AM DOING WITH MY LIFE!”

“I CAN’T FIND MY PURPOSE!”

Memories flashed behind my eyes like a movie.

Every interaction with my “Homie G”, big and small.

Laughs we shared at other people’s expense, cursing at people when he would drive me to school, making fun of me for getting arrested, the list goes on and gets better.

They are mine.

They were ours.

He loved me and I him.

My heart is fractured and it is okay to act like it is.

I thought I had figured it all out.

I didn’t, I was just good at pretending.

I’ve had 34 years of practice after all.

Talking to him that day opened a new path for my life.

It healed me in a way that I can’t explain to people.

He was a man who mocked and celebrated my rebellion.

Now, he is gone but he is continuing to remind me and celebrate me for it.

We were rebel’s together and now I will continue to be one for the both of us.