SEPTEMBER 29
Haste, haste, has no blessing.
—SWAHILI PROVERBAt first we are so busy—so much to do, people to talk with,
arrangements to make.
Then come the quiet times, and in some ways they are
harder to bear. Our loneliness stares out at us from the mir-
ror. All the places we used to go to together, we go to alone.
Even if we go with someone else, the gap is still there.
In defense, we may start to hurry about, hoping that by
keeping ourselves so busy, maybe we won’t notice how
much it hurts.
It’s good to be active, of course. We do need other people,
and activities in which to involve ourselves. But don’t make
the mistake of doing this to hide from grief. It will find us
in the end and demand its hearing.
To inhabit the province of grief for a while is, oddly
enough, its own comfort. It is, for a period, our home; it is
where we belong, and we need to rest there in quiet and at
leisure until we understand its spaces and its meaning. Then
we can move on.
Without hurry or panic I will dwell in the house of my grief.