2. Grief Without Loss

 

When my father passed away, I felt no grief.

 

I visited him in hospital,

his frail body on the bed,

and admired his spirit as I always had.

 

I looked at his body being prepared for the funeral

and felt nothing.

I did not feel a loss.

He was still around in the same way he had always been.

 

Grief had been there all along.

It did not change.

I only call it grief now,

knowing what I know.

 

Then it was just a constant sorrow without a name,

something that questioned but could not answer,

something that doubted its own questions.

But the questions never went away.

 

The grief was for what I did not have,

so I could not lose in the usual sense.

It was the kind of grief children carry

without knowing.

 

Every time I wanted something,

I stopped and told myself it was greedy.

 

When I wanted it so much that I could not stop asking,

I was told it was greedy.

 

So, I learned to stop asking.

Then to stop wanting.

 

The wanting did not disappear.

It hid, deep enough not to burst out

and be punished.

 

My father never punished me for what I asked.

For that, I am forever grateful.