Several years ago now, my mother passed away and I plummeted into a chasm of grief. With her, my ability and desire to write. I have stared at a blank screen for six or seven years now, urging words to appear before me, but none would. This was not writer’s block. This was something more, something undefinable. My voice, after working for so many years to free it, had become caged again. And so I grieved anew.
How could I describe how I was feeling? I couldn’t. Grief didn’t fit neatly into a cycle, like so many articles told me it would. I was adrift. Lost. And no map or vessel could carry me home.
That is, until I came across an image online of a statue created by Albert Gyorgy. He called it “Melancholy” and it felt like my soul had been seen. It was of a figure, seated and bent at the waist. Arms crossed and resting on the knees. The entire torso is empty.
My heart stopped when I saw this image on Facebook for the first time. I felt like it was a self-portrait. My entire being felt hollow, just like this statue. I was looking at myself. How did this happen?
I allowed myself to grieve. I cried, sobbed, laughed at memories, honored my mother on her birthday and holidays. I held grief’s hand as it led me down winding paths of emotional heartbreak. Why was my grief not going away?
I realized that grief is not like the flu — a person isn’t going to feel lousy for a couple days and then recover, slowly eating soup and staying hydrated. Grief is not something “to get over” — a phrase I would like to see eradicated. No, grief is like a companion. Sometimes it is ever present, like a visitor living in your home. Sometimes it is an acquaintance that you have coffee and pastries with. And sometimes, it is your twin. A doppelgänger who lives in a grey world with dulled senses.
I have slowly begun to feel words bubbling up my throat, yearning to be released. My voice has unburied itself and is showing early-Spring green. I opened my blog today, opened “new post” and now I am here, watching words scrambling into place on the screen.
I still feel hollow. I still have my grief. But Gyorgy’s statue made me catch my breath from its resonation. I can see through this figure. Tomorrow fills its hollowness. I can feel Tomorrow and the Day After. Grief is still a constant companion for me, but I am now at peace.
Published by ShadowTeamsNYC and represented by Lisa Hagen Books
- Grief is a Constant - April 9, 2025
- Recovery From Quarantine - November 9, 2020
- Inspiration in Quarantine - April 30, 2020
