My grandfather died over the summer. I've avoided making this post because I wanted to write so much, yet so little. I knew he was dying, and yet the knowledge of his death shocked me to the core. He had a brave, full life and was well-taken care of at his end. I got to see him, one last time before he passed. I wish I had seen him more. Regrets are those things in life that can never be experienced again, no matter what you do. I was overwhelmed by eternity and the existence-less of a life that had once burned so brightly. How do you name or contain grief? It shivers in your bones and seeps through the cracks in little slivers of tears in the most ordinary of moments. Driving my car, walking down a grocery aisle, talking to a customer at work; during all these small mundane tasks, I suddenly would be swept away by the knowledge that somebody I loved was dead. I will not forget you! my mind cried, I will never let your memory be vanquished!
And yet. Here I was putting on pretty dresses and wearing pretty things, continuing on with my own little chores and work and school, as if nothing had changed. And maybe that's the crux of the matter; you think the world will change, that life itself will change, but maybe only you really change. Maybe it's only inwardly that your soul cries out in anguish, but the sun still rises and sets, and the earth still turns, and the people still walk by. I am not an expert on death, and I certainly hope not to be. Neither do I think death is a part of life, but rather a loss, a void of previous existence. But I can still enjoy the sweetness and brightness of the world and do my best not to languish in despair. "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comeths in the morning" Psalm 30:5b. This summer was a long night of weeping, but joy has returned, and tomorrow is a new morning.
Dress - thrifted
Earrings - World Market
<3 The Magpie