The Wind Delivers

I used to wish James and I weren’t so close. I used to wish I didn’t call him my best friend, and I wished we didn’t have so much in common. I naively wished these things away, in the hope I could numb the pain of his absence. Losing someone to suicide is so complex. I ran on adrenalin and beef mince pies for the first couple of weeks, not knowing which way was up. The first year was undoubtedly the hardest. I spent mornings on the cold kitchen floor, in a pool of tears, struck down by grief. I was only 22 years old, and nothing so tragic had happened to me, nor to anyone around me. I was paving this path myself. I had no example to follow and having become an only child overnight, I had never felt so alone. It goes without saying that life after losing a loved one requires some intense adjustment. Continuing without them is unfathomable, until they aren’t there — then you have no choice. I will always fight a pang of envy when someone speaks of their sibling. I will always run out of a store when a song from his funeral plays, and I will think of him every single day, even when some days I just want to forget. Thankfully, coping mechanisms for my grief have developed over the past five years. The most life changing has been my discovery of poetry. Poetry came into my life a mere six months ago when a friend read me some of Rupi Kaur’s work. I resonated with her words and decided to give it a go. Five years of pain spilled out of me, and it keeps on coming. It has been the most cathartic release for me, and my grief episodes have become less severe and less common. Poetry has become my friend, the friend who always listens, asks questions, without judgment and with an insurmountable amount of love and compassion. I hope loss and light can be that friend for many others, too.

The wind delivers me
gentle warm and full bodied
some days
they give me a hug
other days
gusty cold and strong
they knock me off my feet

Tessa's brother's dog on a grass hill at sunset. The grass looks gold. The dog is mostly white with some brown patches and a brown face and ears with white nose

Grief is returning home
and still suffering
from home sickness

I know you hesitate
on what to say
and how to say it
but I can promise you
no matter what you say
or how you say it
you can never
make it worse


Follow Tessa on Instagram at loss and light.

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