Crystal the Artist

This morning the grief hit me like an unexpected and unrelenting freight train. My plans were forgotten, my determined spirit lost into oblivion. As the waves of sorrow kept on flooding over me, I welcomed the hurt and the remembrance of all that I had lost. I gave myself permission. "It’s okay to hurt, it’s okay to feel, now is the time to grieve." Twenty-four years ago, to this day, I lost my mother to a long fought battle against cancer. I was only nine at the time and was without a clear understanding of what that would mean for the rest of my life. There were so many things I could not have known. I didn’t cry then. Not when I was told the news. Not at her funeral (at least not genuinely). Not in the arranged counseling that followed. I was relieved that her suffering was over and that she was now resting in peace. I didn’t want to talk about it. I just wanted life to continue on and to not dwell on the fact that my mom had just died. She had set me up for success and I

I held my fist so tight. My hand was clenched upon my dreams. They sat inside a darkened cage. The walls were firmly pressing in. Inside the life was fading. Then in a moment of sweet grace, I heard the whisper stated, "Let go." My hand obeyed. With an outstretched palm I sat in wonder. I yearned for my hope to stay and for a moment I thought it would. Then the wind came and swept away my treasure. I watched it leave and fly away. How beautifully it danced upon the breeze. Out, away, far from me, it vanished into the open sky and followed the horizon. I could no longer call it mine. My heart, it wept. My strength was gone. My outstretched palm slowly fell to my side. It was alone and growing colder. And when I forgot why I stood, and where my feet were planted, I felt a hand in mine. A gentle pull beckoned me to follow. With one foggy step, one heavy step, my feet walked with no plan or intention. My only comfort was the man whose shapeless form seemed like a familiar strange