Grieving my Body in Illness
I learned to grieve early.
But not about me.
I learned to grieve about relationships, losing them. And the worst, losing people I loved. Sometimes, as difficult, was losing people I hated.
I quickly lost people that I had spent lifetimes with. We all changed; we went on. Life made us different. Raising children and then they moved on. All of those who lived around me, no longer aunts, grandparents and old uncles because the kids are busy raising their own families with a whole new set of helpers. When I am lucky, I am close by my adult children, otherwise the miles can be egregious. Horribly long and painfully hard.
I forgot to grieve me…
My body, that’s a place and a time that I did not grieve. I didn’t know how, didn’t know why, didn’t know when.
When did this body move its parts to the south? When did the three-inch strand of hair have time to grow on my chin? I remember being soft and attractive. I wasn’t too large and wasn’t too small. I could do so much.
I was active…
I said to myself things like: you’re strong, you have endurance, you are ready for all of the stress. I could climb stairs, two, three or four times per day. I never used an escalator, nor would I park up close to the front of…
