Buried Sadness

Perhaps this is what happens, over time,
when you lose someone you love, little by little.

(My story is of my dad's Alzheimer's.
Your story might be similar but different, yes?)

You learn to stuff the grief deep down inside
as far from the heart as you can,
compressing it into the smallest version of what it was,
until you can no longer recognize it,
or even feel it because all the sharp edges are tucked in.

It is what you do, it's what you have to do,
for days and then years,
until eventually death arrives
and suddenly you become aware
that you no longer have to hold it in.
Now you have permission. To grieve.

But by then the sadness is buried so deeply
it becomes impossible to find the tears.

Well meaning people say things, in love and kindness,
like "he's in a better place" and you know it to be true
but the words leave you feeling selfish
because you miss the person
here and now.

So you nod and smile and don't explain
because you don't know how.
Not yet anyway.

For now, you close your eyes and smile,
like your dad used to do when he could no longer put sentences together,
recognizing that someday you will cry.

Just not yet. Not today.