I’ve just come across the following poem in a book and it’s very apt:
Waking confused at a world still turning,
Pain in heart, a constant yearning;
This is grieving.
Not wanting to get up this morning,
Exhausted with sorrowing;
This is grieving.
Sitting lonely, without speaking,
Not having much interest in eating;
This is grieving.
So much time spent in thinking,
Thoughts are sad, vainly racing;
This is grieving.
Stomach aches, a sinking feeling,
From reality, soul is reeling;
This is grieving.
Still alive, but barely breathing,
Wishing for a break from feeling;
This is grieving.
A loss so great that words are failing,
Can’t express just how it’s paining;
This is grieving.
Time isn’t speeding but slowing,
Can’t be turned back, just keeps going;
This is grieving.
Head bowed low, tears are falling,
Heart for hope is vainly calling;
This is grieving.
In the shadows, sit remembering,
Tears and memories without ending;
This is grieving.
Getting up each new morning,
Although it hurts, the world is turning;
This is grieving.
Cleaning house and doing washing,
Writing emails and going shopping;
Still it’s grieving.