What would it take?

 As I read day twelve's prompt and the beautiful words of Mirabai Starr..."disarm your wounded heart and breathe quietly inside the wreckage", I took a deep and purposeful breath. Much like the one I took when I sought refuge in the bathroom at BevMo earlier today, and wished that I was home.

What would it take to soften into the pain of grief? To breathe in this wreckage that is grief? Just let me be in the cocoon that is my home. This is ground zero, the place where the wreckage occurred. The place where I don't have to put on a happy face. Say "please" and "thank you" to strangers or anyone else. The place where I don't have to hear anyone talk about their kids going back to school. The place where I let each day bring whatever it may and just let it wash over me. Where I can lie on my son's bed and wallow in sadness, or dig in the garden and feel the warm soil on my hands. Here, I am fine with feeling grief's pain. I am safe and comforted by what's familiar. Here, I don't have to pretend.