Grief: Sometimes I Just Have To Cry

I was starting to write a kind of intellectual blog about why grief was different than depression.  I couldn't do it and wasn't going to write.  I went back on Facebook.

Ce Thibodeau posted the following.  I changed it from a son talking his mother to a husband talking to his wife because it is so beautiful that it got all my stuck tears to come on out.  I've been trying so hard to be strong and productive I missed the part where I needed to cry and cry and cry and cry.  All those tears dam up inside and there's no room for anything else.  I am so grateful for this post.  I don't know the source.  I will post it with my changes and then as it was originally.

~It is time for me to go, wife; I am going. When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch your arms for your husband in the bed, I shall say, "Your husband... is not there!" -wife, I am going. I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you; and I shall be ripples in the water when you bathe; and kiss you and kiss you again. In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you will hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with the lightning through the open window into your room. If you lie awake, thinking of your husband till late into the night, I shall sing to you from the stars, "Sleep, wife, sleep." On the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed, and lie upon your bosom while you sleep. I shall become a dream, and through the little opening of your eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep; and when you wake up and look round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall flit out into the darkness. I shall melt into the music of the flute and throb in your heart all day. When others come and ask, "Where is your husband?" Wife, you tell them softly, "He is in the pupils of my eyes, he is my body and my soul." ♥

The original:

~It is time for me to go, mother; I am going. When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch your arms for your baby in the bed, I shall say, "Your baby... is not there!" -mother, I am going. I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you; and I shall be ripples in the water when you bathe; and kiss you and kiss you again. In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you will hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with the lightning through the open window into your room. If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the night, I shall sing to you from the stars, "Sleep, mother, sleep." On the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed, and lie upon your bosom while you sleep. I shall become a dream, and through the little opening of your eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep; and when you wake up and look round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall flit out into the darkness. I shall melt into the music of the flute and throb in your heart all day. When others come and ask, "Where is your baby?" Mother, you tell them softly, "He is in the pupils of my eyes, he is my body and my soul." ♥

I'm going to see if my tears can wash away some of this sludgy muddy desparate feeling.  I miss you Artie.  Happy Anniversary on Friday.  xo