It’s a fine spring day. Doesn’t stop a grave thought.
The mystery (to me) that normally grief kicks in pretty quickly after the event. When I say “event” I don’t necessarily mean that which most people associate with “grief”, namely death. Not at all. Could be anything.
I am familiar with loss, indeed it has been said that my life is “one of loss” which, frankly, I find ludicrous. All of us “lose” stuff, people, ourselves, along the way. Occasionally.
Yes, so grief over a grievance normally kicks in pretty quickly after the event. However, and this is my puzzle and I’d be more than grateful if any of you have any ideas on this, there is a peculiar type of grief which overcomes you ages, a long long time, after the event. Evoked by, maybe, a sound, a song, a smell, a piece of music, the touch and feel of a piece of cloth, and, not least that most dastardly ambushing you, a thought.
Yes, so am melancholic this minute. Not in a bad way. In a slightly tearful way. If nothing else it’s a sign I am alive.
Hope the sun shines wherever you are – unless of course it’s night on your side of the globe in which case you have something to look forward to.