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Published on January 8, 2018
Comments 16

Me Mondays: Blood Into Ink #MeToo Writing Contest Honorable Mention: bone&silver/#MeToo

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For my first ‘Me Mondays’ post of 2018, I’m thrilled to share this short, bone-true story I wrote for the wonderful braveandrecklessblog, who I’ve linked to several times before. Trigger warning: loss of a loved one & grief. Thank you if you choose to read it, G xO

Whisper and the Roar

MeToo Gabrielle Griffin

Why had my cousin rung me 5 times in thirty minutes? I returned my phone to airplane mode, and pushed open the classroom door. But during the lesson, my attention kept being pulled back to the call record, even while I taught; why was my stomach knotting?

The one hour dragged like mud, then I pressed redial.

‘It’s your Dad. He had a heart attack in Hawaii and…’

And is in hospital. Is fine. Will be fine. Or confined to a wheelchair at worst.

‘… and he died. I’m so sorry.’

Who took my knees away and punched me in the gut? Can I just curl up here and die on the street too?

A passing cyclist wobbles and stops. ‘Are you OK?’

No. Yes. No. I can’t share this pain with you, leave me alone!

Lying in bed that night, alone at home, with a silent waterfall streaming out…

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16 Comments

  1. After The Party says

    I went and read the whole thing. It made me cry. Beautifully written, but so, so sad. I’m sorry for your loss, for your friends loss, too. I’m glad you were there for each other.

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    • bone&silver says

      Oh dear, yes, I guess some people will cry… hope you weren’t at work! It was indeed terribly sad, for both of us, but now, years later, we can both say we are wiser & kinder for it. Thank you for reading & commenting 🙏🏼❤

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  3. cathytea says

    Ah, that’s beautiful. I was 42, also, when my dad left–pancreatic cancer. He’d had a stroke two years before which brought him into a zen-like and beautiful state of simply being alive and very present. After he passed, I dove into mindfulness as a way to survive–I could only survive the pain by being very, very present. It didn’t help the grief pass quicker–it took at least 12 years. It did help the transformation become complete. I was thinking the other day about all we gain through loss…

    I love the ending of your story, especially, and the love that you and your friend gain as you face together this part of life, the continuance and the universality of it.

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    • bone&silver says

      That is such a beautiful comment and story Cathy, thank you so much for sharing it here. It’s unbelievable how much it hurts isn’t it? Inconceivable until it happens (assuming you get on well of course); I do think it’s more traumatic when it’s a sudden loss, rather than something you can prepare slowly for… and I love that you discovered mindfulness as a solution, that’s fantastic. Your comment has made me realise that after nearly 10 years, I am probably coming to the same practice, and trying to live every day as if it’s my last, because one day it simply will be. Thank you again SO much for commenting, with love and understanding, G xO

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  4. zlotybaby says

    I’m sorry for your loss. I liked how the story was written. It has some similarities to how you write on your blog but was also different. I can’t really relate to how you and your friend feel about your respective dads but I think the pain itself is relateble. I wouldn’t say I know how you feel, though, because as the story suggests: do we ever?

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    • bone&silver says

      Thank you for that comment & understanding Z; it’s lovely getting feedback on my writing style too- “same same but different”- that’s how I feel about my style too. I appreciate your engagement with my blog, & for your care about our losses. Blessings, G 🙏🏼❤

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  5. Jean Cross says

    Really well expressed. You kept me right there in the moment, not letting me get away from your feelings, which were as compelling as they were disturbing. Sadly, like lots of people, I can relate personally to what you wrote, about strong structures no longer being rooted to the world, about life going on regardless of the ground-shaking loss, and especially about being on the wrong planet. I remember feeling like I had taken the wrong bus in the long aftermath of my sister’s death, it was taking me the wrong way but I couldn’t get back to the right route. Some small, invisible thing had wrecked my world and I couldn’t put it right. Losing her redrew my relationship with the universe.
    Your writing here speaks to the anguish that never goes away as we take on loss and carry it inside us going forward, different, wiser, humbler. Thank you for sharing such an intimate and profound experience and for doing it so well. Somehow, I am comforted.

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    • bone&silver says

      Thank you for understanding Jean, and I’m sorry for your own loss, that must have been awful. It is in universal order that we lose our parents, but siblings or young folk feels like a much more terrible wound, and wrong. Your comment moved me to my own tears, as I felt your pain as well; grief is so deeply personal, yet obviously profoundly part of the human experience, and to pretend ‘life goes on’ afterwards is bullshit… nothing is ever the same. I can’t believe I can say now that losing Dad actually brought me great gifts- of compassion, kindness, and a softness I had hidden away since being a child- but it’s true, and it comforts me also. Much love, respect, and understanding, Gabrielle xOO

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