I cannot take credit for the title. It's from Psych "The plague novel you need to read is Bachmann, not Camus." by Lyndsey Stonebridge. Excellent article linked here. The sentence it is from reads:
"... when you are being devoured from both inside and outside, it is difficult to take sides. You really can hold only your position."
I stoped reading for a long minute thinking about how my grief and loss exists (i.e. devours me) from within and without (the life outside of me) creating what is an unfocused life. Lost in direction, meaning, and purpose. I wanted to explore that more to see if any new light would enter my grief wound?
Devoured is perhaps a bit extreme yet fitting to my grief journey/work. I can be devoured by grief. Horrible moments of wanting to vanish into my pain. Knowing Donna is not walking in the door after work all the while knowing I can join her anytime I choose.
This grief, my grief, occupies a vault within me. A compartment connected to all the other compartments in my mind and heart. This compartment leaks like a thatched roof in a monsoon memories to all parts of me. Memories of joy and laughter, pain, and suffering all actively interacting with each other. Memories (aka feelings) flitting about within me are solar panels that catch the light that was Donna and our love that enters my grief wound and illuminates a new consciousness. I find myself smiling at her antics, the little things she did that demonstrated her relentless unyielding love for me, and my joy in having her just present. I write. I breath. I try to live. Yet of those memories and feels within is surrounded by the thing they call life I see before my eyes acting out a pantomime that keeps me at arms length.
Around me the world at large. The world outside of the within me is my life as I know it. It's the outside compartments with less grief. More life sans meaning & purpose for me. This outside world devours me as well and has an equal effect on me as the grief within me.
The seeds of grief within seem to rise on unseen winds and glide to the world outside. These seeds plant themselves around me and grow. At times they bloom and yield fruit I harvest and nourish my inner grief. At times there is the harsh reminder that the outside would is nothing more than a mirror of what is within me.
I gaze out the window at night across the street to living rooms brightly lit. Flat screens glowing. A couple is under a blanket and imagine they are holding hands in a comfort of a moment when it is only them alone together. I feel my isolation and remember watching The Sons of Anarchy. The seed of my internal grief is right here.
I pass a store display of sweaters and bags. I look at raglan sleeve bulky knit wool sweater that is nearly mid thigh length in a soft grey. I move toward the door thinking Donna would like this let me get it. I can always return it if it doesn't cut it.
I leave the home to have a meal that is prepare for me not by me. In front of me is a couple holding hands, smiling, talking, and simply being a couple in love. In another time and place I would not notice. Today I think of our Friday nights end of the work week dinner date and see what was next to what never will be.
I need to buy sheets. Walking the aisles I find the bedroom section and stand looking. Just looking at the selection of sheets. Patterns, colors, designs, and more sitting on the shelfs like a live photo vibrating. I look and am frozen. Another time Donna would be there and just point and I would put them in the cart.
Those are the outside world moments that are seeded by my inside grief. Those moments and others are the reminders and the memories that devour me. They also lift me to a vista where I see that even what is not there is there. What is missing exists. What is pain is in reality love. What I may see as failing is my continuing to be the person Donna loved into being.