Grief has become like a second skin.
I remember in a discussion about personal space, a friend in the Middle East said personal space ends at your skin. I laughed in horror, and decided she won. As though personal space may be a challenge in Indonesia, it did not end at my skin.
Oh how I wish grief ended with my skin. However, it has in fact become like a second skin.
Still gasping for breath/air from a previous loss, the air is sucked out of my chest from another and another.
I’ve shared the metaphor/analogy of grief being like floating in the sea. Sometimes the waves just gently lapping, motioning you forward and backwards like a liquid lullaby. Then before you know/ then as quickly propelling you closer to shore.