“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”
-William Shakespeare

This quote helped me to realize, throughout the losses I have gone through, that my heart and soul had needs that were not satisfied by the initial, overwhelming sadness of the wake, funeral and burial. Those days, which bleed into one another and are separated only by fits of exhausting sleep, are filled with a contemplative determination to keep going. I just keep moving through the haze of responsibility to breathe and do what I must to keep my mind from tearing apart. They are marked by memories of the past few days, not the past few years, which I had spent with that person, and the taste of finger sandwiches and donuts brought by the great uncle that always does such things. I wonder who will think to buy the finger sandwiches and donuts when he passes, but banish the thought for now; it will probably be me. I like having things to do in the face of loss; my grief prefers errands over words.

The sickly sweet smell of flower arrangements, stiff but stately furniture, and the dull, soft light of the funeral homes are meant to be comforting; the funeral home itself is a casket for the living. They leave me aching for the fresh air and harsh light of day. Upon arrival at the cemetery for the internment, I marvel at this accidental effect the parlors have on me while taking in the unappreciated beauty of such a sad place. This grass is watered with tears. The casket, concealing my loved one from me forever, becomes symbolic in that mournful ride from parlor to grave. I like watching it lowered to the ground, reassured that it has been seen through to the end: there is no more I can do for that person. Prayers are said, hugs and reassurances are exchanged, and family gathers at a house to offer some normalcy at a party no one ever wants to have. Once the initial shock of the death of a loved one wears off, and the lovingly prepared casseroles are eaten and dishes returned, I have found that the actual grief begins.