A young fawn born in spring walks through the woods. Wet leaves gather around her hooves then slide away as she steps forward. She lets out a maa calling her mother and walks a ways further. On low hanging limbs she begins eating, plucking leaves one by one. She walks again, disappearing into the dark of the still early morning. Another maa further down.
When do spots begin to fade? When is the innocence of youth stripped away?
I think about my own children. I think of my niece and nephews who lost their dad during the pandemic. I think back to my own childhood, of the friends who lost parents at too young an age. How lost for words I was then. How unaware I was to the magnitude of their emotions within.
It’s been said that grief becomes your identity for the remainder of your life. There is something to this.
Do you ever forget their face? Is there ever a time and place when you feel whole again or will there always be a piece of you missing?
One day the melancholy leaves. It slips out the backdoor, unannounced. When this happens no one can tell you. But one day you realize the sadness is lighter. There is a tinge of happiness to the sadness. You are able to reflect without feeling the need to shut it out.
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