mourning

These last few years have been marked by a sinewy vein of grief. The kind that intricately burrows itself into the muscle wall, carrying whatever you do or don’t ingest into your deepest cavities. Keeping every part of you alive – but surviving on what? And what for?

 

In one year,

I lost something that I knew I couldn’t have. And I lost it twice.

I gave up a community and a church and a job that I knew I would just as soon lose if they ever found out.

I lost control of my own body – every rhythm and emotion and inch got away.

I lost my god-brother to the darkness of depression and the waters of the San Francisco Bay.

I lost the safety of living in a country that protects and cares for its own, where justice for all once rang true.

And I lost the steady footing of a relationship that was always a door and never a floor, over and over again.

 

But this year—this year is different.

2017, how you’ve shattered us all.

You’ve carried hate and shame and anxiety through these veins until we screamed and screamed for something to numb the pain.

 

But now we know, not all loss needs to be mourned.

 

I may have lost a mother’s innocence, but in its place now beats the heart of resilience.

I may have lost my church community, but with it washed away shame and submissiveness.

And we may have lost rights and laws, but now, together we rise and fall.