The dark truth

Speak gently of your grief. Find the silver lining of each loss. All sorrow comes to an end. 

These are the things we’re supposed to do and say. These are the thoughts people want to hear. But the truth is that I want to sit in a dark room, heavy metal bass and drums filling the air, screaming and crying. I want to burst my ear drums so my heart will stop hurting. I want the sun to stop shining and mourn with me. I want the birds to stay silent in their nests. I want the skies to pour rain so my tears will be invisible. 

But these thoughts scare people, make them worry, and so I don’t say it out loud. Instead, I say I’m doing all right. I’m finding my way. And I will. Don’t worry or be afraid for me. But today, I want to disappear. 

W.H. Auden says it perfectly:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. 


Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,]
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.


The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.