Love and Roses

Traffic doesn't move any faster because you're grieving.

On the day when you found it difficult to get out of bed, difficult to convince yourself that it would be better for everyone for you were at work and chapel and class, the traffic lights will still turn red at inconvenient times. On the day when you had to remind yourself that when your body is still, your spirit is still, your mind is still, and that if you stay here, you will only end up immersed in thoughts that are not good for you, the drivers will still make unnecessary lane changes without signaling. On the day when you just needed to catch a break because things are hard enough as it is, you will instead get caught between a bus and someone trying to make an illegal left-hand turn and you will end up jogging into work with a cloud of aggravation around you and a soreness in your throat from all of the screaming you did at the beltway, at the universe, at your feelings.

The weather won't change because you're grieving.

You might hate clomping around in boots and fumbling with scarves and digging gloves out of bags and purses and corners of car seats, but the temperature will not rise just because it would make things easier for you. Your skin will continue to crack in the dryness and you will forget your lotion and your chapstick at home and you will sit with the uncomfortable weight of winter clothes in the uncomfortable greyness of a bland winter day and stare uncomfortably at the deadness of winter around you because nothing has told the bulbs it's time to bloom yet. In all likelihood, the forecast will promise snow and deliver freezing rain instead, all the misery without any of the beauty.

The world won't stop because you're grieving.

On the morning that comes after the night of poor sleep brought to you by the feelings death has swirled up in you, the guilt and anger and fear and disbelief and lostness, there will still be news about stocks and politics and systematic injustice. There will be meals cooked and meals consumed, somewhere around the world. There will be fights and arguments and love and agreements and ideas and doubts and laughter and tears and boredom and apathy and immense amounts of inertia and mind-boggling amounts of passion. There will be collections for flowers, maybe, or donations to organizations, and cards sent and support offered, and hugs and phone calls and messages, and we will do all of these things because we're alive. We're still alive. Today, this day, the world didn't stop for us, for any of us who are still here, not yet.

It has been beautiful to see the way my Sigma Alpha Iota sisters have come together to remember the sister we've lost. I know that many of us are still in shock over how such a genuinely beautiful person could be fine on Friday and gone on Monday, but it has been heartwarming to see the remembrances and words of kindness and comfort which have so quickly turned into concrete actions. I know facebook is much, and rightly, maligned, but it was a godsend yesterday, connecting those of us who have gone so many different places in the years since graduation. It was a deeply lovely thing to see all the comments and love poured out to each other and in support of another sister in her loss and grief. In these moments of sharing, we offer a testimony to the love that binds us now and promise of the love that we'll bring to each other when tragedy comes for any of us. Take a breath. Take a moment. Be kind. Receive kindness in return. Be loved.

Remember, love didn't stop because we're grieving.