The day after the death of Carrie Fisher, her mother, too, passed away. Perhaps it was a broken heart - Takotsubo cardiomyopathy? - the straw that broke the camel's back. Godspeed, Debbie Reynolds. Carrie will be there to greet you, I am sure.
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Grief is a tremendous, powerful thing. It comes in all shapes and sizes, and can be found in small, temporary goodbyes, as well as in separation by the Veil. It is things unsaid, and wishes not granted, and hopes not given form. It is also the mirror of joy: an echo of moments of happiness that have now passed, of a touch, of flashes of understanding and personal communion.
The interwebs has circulated, without attribution, the below statement that grief is just unspent love. Perhaps that is true. It feels that way, oftentimes.
As we reach the end of 2016 -- a year that seems to have contained far more Grief than we would like, yet in a continuum of the loss and change of its two predecessor years -- we hold on to the grain of hope that grief, like all things, must pass in time, and that perhaps, if we are lucky, we will have an opportunity to free the unspent love that binds us.
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