The Seven Stages of Grief | Acceptance
The Seven Stages of Grief
vii. Acceptance
The smallest things save our lives,
They’re often strangers.
A woman says, “Good luck to you,”
To me in line at Walgreens,
In earnest,
For no reason other than,
She liked the shape of my sneaker.
«
It felt so good for someone to wish me well.
«
I keep telling myself,
I’ll stop loving you tomorrow,
Even though, deep down,
I hope tomorrow never comes.
«
I know you want to be the man who loves me how I need to be loved,
In just the same way that I want to be the world’s greatest piano player,
But I’ve never practiced piano.
«
I am your piano.
«
I re-enter the real world,
It feels like The Real World.
The creative collective envelops me like the deepest, warmest embrace, I’ve been longing for,
The feeling is nothing less than electric.
I think,
I can be magic,
I think,
I am going to be ok.
I think,
There is no rebirth without death.
«
I wake up with a migraine,
It jolts me out of bed,
A helmet heavy headache.
I wish it away,
Curse it away,
Alternate the shower dial all the way left,
All the way to the right,
My nipples harden and soften on command.
«
I’m used to navigating life in all kinds of different pain,
Show up, show out, show off.
But while I may be someone who hurts for a living.
I am not someone who has earned their stripes of empathy.
«
How is my head?
Not good.
How is my heart?
Not much better.
The spring into action of deep care,
Shakes me to my core,
I don’t know how else to receive it.
I say, “I love you,”
To people I’ve known less than 48 hours,
More times than I’ve said it to you,
In 32,850.
«
Yoga pillows,
Blocks,
Blankets,
Hands on my body,
Thumbs on the pressure points I didn’t know I had,
Makeshift ice packs secured by hair ties,
Oil on my neck,
Peppermint in my mouth,
Electrolytes on my lips.
«
Something in me instantly heals,
It’s not my head.
«
Although I’ve never had it,
I knew that this kind of love existed.
I fucking knew it.
«
Love is a language whose words need no definition.
You would call that,
“A Disney movie bullshit line.”
«
I want to text you,
I was right.
«
I flash back to Hawaii,
When I was sick with Covid,
Same head,
Same heart.
You had looked at me in the hotel bed,
My face as grey as the sky,
And said,
“I’m going to play 9 holes.”
«
Four hours went by,
I wondered where you were.
I scooped up the wasabi from last night’s sushi onto my pinky,
And brought it to my nose.
I couldn’t smell it.
I shoved it in my mouth.
I couldn’t taste it.
«
I went on a rampage,
Shampoo,
Pizza,
Body lotion,
Coffee,
Wet bathing suits,
Old workout clothes,
Up my nose or down my throat,
Everything was the same.
Blank.
«
I texted you,
“Come back,”
I was so scared.
I never asked you for anything.
You were on hole 14.
I’ve never been good at math,
But surely that’s more than 9.
You stayed,
Because why not?
I’d be sick with or without you there.
«
If you were sick,
You’d want to be left alone,
You rationalized.
Why wasn’t I sleeping it off?
You asked.
I was bringing the vibes of the vacation I paid for down.
When you finally returned,
You didn’t talk to me for days.
Annoyed I had “ruined” the time.
Please,
I had pleaded,
Just be with me.
I was trying to learn how to ask for what I needed.
«
You will never be my yoga pillows,
My yoga blocks,
My electrolytes.
You will never be the hands on my body.
You will never be the reason I say,
“It’s beautiful,”
When someone asks me how my heart is.
Two days ago, that thought had paralyzed my being.
«
Today, I smiled,
Thank God.