I had something else written but this came to me right before I hit publish at 10pm. It’s a quick first draft but it feels more real than the mundane checklist of last week’s griever agenda. Thanks for reading and always being kind.

The Volcano

During the first 365, the sky was clouded with ash,

The constant eruptions of grief exploded out of the surface,

Covering everything I touched.

Everyone around was aware I was hot to the touch,

Checking in, offering to help cool the heat with their kindness.

Since passing the 365, the ash has started to lift,

I can imagine the horizon,

Though I know not what it looks like.

The eruptions of grief aren’t as regular,

Though there is not always warning on when they will come.

Still sorrow can be felt, bubbling just below the surface,

One fissure in life can expand without warning,

Opening a crater of grief too hot to handle alone.

This is when you call the rescue team,

The ones that meant it when they said to call anytime.

All it can take is a hug to help seal the wound,

No words are needed, just quiet compassion and understanding to quell the lava of grief.