by Jo Doyle                                       Ireland                                   18.06.2024

Grief. Shock. Numbing silence.
Followed by an activity of noise, blaming, accusation, fighting.
Then the shattering.
Shattering of loss, not only from the one who died, but the loss of many you thought would be there.
Grief is a deconstruction.
Brick by brick, a deconstruction.
A finding of who you are.
I search for silence.
My search for a place of meaning.
How does this loss and all the losses fit into my jigsaw life.
I have a hole in my soul which is full of pain, bewilderment, despair too. Such sadness and emptiness.
A cavernous tunnel of grief waiting to welcome me into its underground lace work of mysterious suffering.
This embroidery of pain tunnels its way to the core of my life.
There is no safety in the darkness of my earth.
Then, a certain collapse occurs.
My foundation implodes.
I go with it, and nobody notices.
Alone and silent.
I love the silence, like breathing underwater.
No more accusations.
The outer noise fades away.
I am so distant now.
This inner darkness is my nectar from the heavens.
A Oneing with the infinite universe.
At least I am connected to something, even if it’s darkness.
Stillness is taking me deeper.
Where has the pain gone?
Oh, I have a cemetery of memories in my soul.
Burning, crushing memories of loss, too young.
And mourning with no hope of repair.
Oh, how this villainous grief waits, to show that you are now alone, swallowed in darkness.
The rock of ages holds nothing to the rock of my heart.
Dried out now, unable to receive, unable to absorb the nurturing waters of life.
A puddle of unabsorbed peace lies like dreaded poison.
So, the journey to life begins once more.

Jo Wardhaugh Doyle is farming in Kildare with her husband Matt. She has worked in Uganda, Ethiopia and Kenya, but more recently has worked with Sr Rita Kelly MMM doing the REAP programme in the Irish Missionary Union (IMU).