Notes on Grief

grief belonged to other people. Does love bring, even if unconsciously, the delusional arrogance of expecting never to be touched by grief?

I finally understand why people get tattoos of those they have lost. The need to proclaim not merely the loss but the love, the continuity.

I must spare my loved ones my endless roiling thoughts

We don’t know how we will grieve until we grieve.

his appreciation for the properness of things. His meticulous record-keeping, the rows of files in his cabinet. Each child had files for primary, secondary and university records,

My father taught me that learning is never-ending.

He wrote his signature even on our birthday cards, which made my siblings and me laugh.

Grief is a cruel kind of education.

Another revelation: how much laughter is a part of grief. Laughter is tightly braided into our family argot, and now we laugh remembering my father, but somewhere in the background there is a haze of disbelief. The laughter trails off. The laughter becomes tears and becomes sadness and becomes rage.

Grief is a cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief is about language, the failure of language and the grasping for language.