G: Grieve #Step7

A few weeks ago, an aunt of mine passed away in a different country. She had been suffering for a while and yet her death came as a bit of a shock, since we had not met her for a while and my last memories of her were of her in our house for lunch and the dogs flocking around her. In any case, I spoke to Uncle, he was inconsolable in his grief, saying again and again that he had nothing to live for anymore. Shockingly, he passed away just a fortnight later, leaving in his wake a shell-shocked children, grandchildren, relatives and an assortment of friends and acquaintances. That’s one way of looking at it. The other is that he is in a better place, reunited with his love not having to suffer the pangs of old age, loneliness and helplessness. I don’t know about the 'better place' bit, but which would you prefer? When my dad died, I grieved for the longest time. For me, the world refused to exist. There was no meaning in the sun or stars and everything (I mean everything) reminded me of my loss. I could not listen to music without bursting into tears, even an inane “how are you doing?” had me blubbering like a fool. I thought it would never end. But time passes. Wounds heal. Or at least stop hurting as much. Now, almost 28 years have passed since I took my father’s body to the crematorium. I still miss him in my everyday life, not a day passes without a thought of him. Each time I visit crematorium, I know my eyes soften. Many dear ones have left me since then. The grief never stops, I used to fight it. But I have come to accept that as part of me. The following poem is about that, about accepting that one needs to grieve and no matter what, that grief is part of who you are. And its okay. 
FROM A CREMATORIUMYou see a dirty floorI see a vulnerableyoung girlcradling the headof her dead fatherunable to look at meunable to smileor even cry.
She tries to find solacein the Gitasomeone thrustinto her handsthe words swimas, wide eyed, she reads:'Thou grievestwhere no grief should be."
I want to reach outto that girlfrom long agothe one whose heartis breakingthe one who's wearingher grieflike a new cloak.
I want to tell herthat she will returnto this spot again and againand it will be alrightto grieveand that cloak she will always wearfrom long agowill be made of the purest light.