“As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer’s long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn’t touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating around my face, catching my arms and throat till I began to drown.
So I just didn’t stop.”
Barbara Kingsolver
After an awful summer followed by a busy international move, a new job, a city to explore, bordering countries to creep into, friends to make, and names and schedules and faces to remember, winter break in all its 16 day glory gave me plenty of time to stop moving.
Grief caught up with me and it was awful, but I guess I needed another round with that dark crushing feeling again- the kind you can’t just deal with, the kind you have to sit with and breathe through and give in to. I’ll be back around soon, but for now, I’m regaining my footing. Once I’m back in the swing of grown-up things like bedtimes and wake up calls and paying rent and grading papers we’ll talk.
Narrator’s Note September 2020: This was originally published January 8th, 2013, on Blogger. My little sister unexpectedly died on June 18th, 2012, right before I moved to Albania. I wouldn’t be able to write about it for a year. Having the space to be alone in a new place and grieve on my own terms was what was best for me, although moving overseas and starting a new career a month after a loss like that might also seem unfathomable or strange to other people. Grief is unique and we all sort it in our own way.
