The Promise of Tomorrow

by Mary Ellen Taylor

I’d developed an obsession with the sun because in the ruins of my life, its cycle reminded me that this very consistent earth would keep turning in space despite the unexplainable chaos on the surface.

What I discovered was that grief could be tricky. It was mobile and could track me for thousands of miles. The faster I drove, the quicker my grief moved. Each time I thought I’d lost it around the last curve in the road, I found it in the passenger seat, weeping. No matter how many days or months I logged on the road, it kept pace.

you can't outrun grief. it must be felt. it demands to be felt.

Maybe instead of running from my grief, I needed to embrace it and allow it to become a part of me.

“Money talks. Wealth whispers.”