LOVE, REPURPOSED

Mother rang me tonight, talking of the past as she often does. It is the month of June, grief-drenched June, and we both miss him terribly. I try to write to him, but feel discouraged by knowing he will not read them. I think of how there are multitudes of letters laden with love just scattered around, unopened, unsent. In jewellery boxes, under mattresses, in a little shoe box painted pink. And where does all the love go, if not received? 

If energy cannot be created nor destroyed; can love? 

They say grief is love with nowhere to go, and if that is the case, then does it fester inside of us, unable to escape? Or does it transform into something else entirely? Repurposed, like an old set of curtains turned into bedsheets, or a dress made entirely from plastic bottles. And if love can metamorphose, then perhaps I can too. 

Today is Father’s day, which means today, his absence plays like an organ in a small room, and I am locked inside. On a day that celebrates the presence of fathers, I like to forget the absence of mine, so I took myself to the park and met a friend for a margarita afterwards. I wish I could admit I felt sad today, but I don’t. Not particularly. It would be easier if I did, but grief is unpredictable and I feel exhausted from predicting. I once heard someone say there are two kinds of days in grief: days where you feel terrible, and days where you feel terrible for not feeling so terrible. Nothing has ever encapsulated my feelings so well. 

So, on a day in which I feel bad for not feeling so bad, I will be kind to myself. I will allow whatever emotion to pass through, and I will (try to) not judge myself for it. Today is just a day, a capitalistic ideal in which everyone feels guilted into spending money because gratitude is incomplete without an overpriced MoonPig card and a gimmicky mug! 

For now, I shall let love repurpose itself, and perhaps I will do the same. 

Lots of love, 

Emily