Grief walks up to your front door. It’s not time yet, you say. Yet she keeps on walking. She walks past the rose bushes in your front yard. She walks past the boulders you’ve carefully laid in her path. She walks past the detours you’ve planted to steer her around you and away from you. This time She is focused. And the rain is pouring and thunder is booming as the earth shakes and vibrates.
“Please,” She says, “I need shelter. I need to come in -- if only for a moment. “
Reluctantly, I let Grief in. I offer her a cup of warm tea. We sit by the fireplace.
“Why have you come?” I ask. “It’s not yet time.”
“It’s time. I am by myself tonight. Tomorrow I may not be alone. I may bring thousands of Me and there will be nothing you can do. We will break down your door. We will drown you. “
She pauses for a moment.
She strokes my dog Ahnung.
“Sit with Me now.”
We share stories. We cry. We laugh. Ahnung lays between us. A calm breeze permeates the room.
“It’s time for me go,” Grief says.
“But we have so much more to share,” I say.
She smiles. She rises, and Ahnung walks alongside her. Ahnung stops at the front door as Grief turns around to face me.
“I will be return. I may come alone, or I may bring a friend. Now, be with Ahnung.”
We melt into the breeze coming through the open door.