mudblossom's Journal

Grief seems to be this magical dragon floating past me as I try to grab it's tail, but often cannot.  I know leaning into the experience will mean finding more meaning for myself, but often I don't want to try.  I lapse back into wanting to be somewhere else in my life.  I don't want to be this woman who lost the only pregnancy she may ever have, who lost a potential marriage, who now lives a somewhat lonely spinsterly life, who lost a fervor for church and a safe feeling at church, who doesn't really care what she looks like much anymore, who doesn't have anything feeding her passion, or even slightly amusing her (beyond the mindless tracking of American Idol, rolls eyes).  I want to be somewhere in the future, when I have "survived" this, made meaning of it, chewed it up and spit it out, and glancing back on the memory of it in my new plateau of some new life.  But I'm not.  I'm preparing to go to grief group, in a state of reluctance.