#4: On (trying to) tessellate grief's terrain

A newcomer-to-grief's humble attempt at introspecting on a road I'm still paving.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

Maya Angelou

I am a newcomer to grief - a statement that in itself is dually privileged and…