Mourning Fog

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I was writing a poem for an assignment that I accepted through WordPress when one of the prompts was “fog”. When I pull up the weather sites one of the warnings that is often posted is “Morning Fog”. If it has been warm and a cool rain shifts in the fog begins to appear. Winter fog is a little less predicable. Yet when either comes it changes the landscape dramatically.
Whole mountains disappear and familiar shapes are muted or unrecognizable. If you are able to drive up and over one of the mountains  you will drive out of the fog into the sun only to descend again once you have crossed the summit.
Most people turn their headlights on and drive slower. A familiar place is transformed into the unfamiliar. The air feels cooler because of the amount of moisture present, sometimes to the point of making everything wet.
Mourning creates its own type of fog that shares a lot of the characteristics of actual fog.
It changes the way everything looks to the extent that some parts of our life are unrecognizable.
The days, regardless of the amount of sunlight do not seem as warm or bright.
It was not predictable or expected and even if we were warned we were not prepared for the reality.
We proceed cautiously – or not at all because we do not know what is ahead or around the bend.
Our days are wet with tears of grief and frustration and even anger.
When we drive up into the sunlight for a bit we never stay long before something – a memory or thought – takes us back down again.
The fog does eventually abate. We trade our mourning for daily grief. We never accept the loss of our child but we do learn to accept the grief. It is never completely comfortable – an ill fitting garment at best – but a part of every day for the rest of our lives.
Still the fog rolls back in again every now and then and we find ourselves bewildered by the fact that we are not prepared to deal with it any better than we did the first time.
Every day challenges come to all of us. What is not so apparent is that some of us are operating at a disadvantage emotionally – we truly are in a fog.

About pathfinder

Artist, Writer, Walking wounded.
This entry was posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Mourning Fog

  1. Janet Larson says:

    Did you post the fog poem or did I just miss it? love, j

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