I’m torn between the best excuse (my boyfriend died; I’m grieving!) and the reality that I must go on, I will go on. I try to care as deeply as I once did, but I prefer organic over manufactured passion.

I make big plans for progress, but greet days with procrastination. I lost my hurry. Excitement is as fleeting as dragonflies. Metamorphoses, change, growth (I know!) arise from grief grappled with rather than denied. This shall not be me life! I, Alice Lundy, refuse to turn into a sad little sap.

So, I trudge on into days that unfold fast and defeatingly slow. I acknowledge my pain, loss, and aching heart, as if doing so earns me a ticket out.

I do the same and different things as when I’ve been immersed in grief before. I remember all I’ve been through—and want a reprieve from being here again. Even though I know better. Knowledge is both helpful and useless. I’ve endured death’s arrows and stood to rise. I will again.

There’s no minimizing. The death of my man was sudden and unfair. What an extraordinary love we shared. I long for his voice, eyes, touch, laughter—his everything. To grieve is to yearn for the impossible.

To transform requires acceptance. No, thanks, I’d like to say. The gal who’s always been about growth and learning and making the best of everything resists the lessons today.

Somehow, destiny determines me open to it all. Death and angels. Scars upon my heart and enlightenment. Solitude and open arms. Darkness and light. Overwhelming sadness and undeniable hope. The loss and the leap. And so I ready.