To Grief

What do I call this grief, if not love?

And what do I call grief when it is no longer enough of a word to bear the weight of sadness

that brings me to my knees? When sleep does not ease the weariness of bereavement and winter’s chill

does not leave these weakening bones? When everything I was, I am no more; when loss has worn through this

forlorn body; when each new day does not bring hope but ceaseless ache? What do I call this grief, if not

love — once held in arms now carried in heart; a love so abundant it can’t remain here where I mourn

but falls from these tears to soften earth and bless this dirt. I will plant love here where it will grow, knowing

I will never get over this, but I will get through. That soon this tree will bear shade; proof that winter’s

relief can be found in Spring and time will bring its own kind of healing. That life will begin again

and love will always remain beyond the pain of this grief. Never-ending love; rest in peace.