Meeting

Meeting

Martha felt lost in this sea of people who chattered away in groups or twosomes. “Why was she here,” she thought, as a feeling of panic began to rise making her want to flee. Oh, yes, Nancy insisted she come, “Get out in the world again, have fun,” she’d said. And since Nancy was her friend who only meant to be helpful, Martha had complied, but now she stood in the corner, back against the wall, unable to move yet she knew if she didn’t, she would start to scream. As she took a deep breath, Martha realized the noise of talking became muted to a distant roar, laughter no longer registered sound at all, and the sea of faces in the living room turned blurry. She heard a whispered voice saying, “Move, Martha, place one foot in front of the other, you can do it,” and she felt her lips moving. Slowly, Martha did as she’d been told, peeling herself from the wall, her legs wobbly, her bumpy gait causing the liquid in her glass to slosh droplets onto the floor. In what seemed like hours but was only seconds she found a hallway and shakily followed it to a dimly lit room. Table and chairs, stove, refrigerator, marbled countertops, Martha recognized she was in the kitchen. She braced herself on the center island letting the cold stone ground her. Her breathing regulated, her racing heart slowed as she experienced a moment of pride for herself. She had taken control, utilized her inner strength, and overcome her feeling of helplessness. She closed her eyes, did more mindful breathing, grateful for the solitude she had come upon. Her peace was shattered by an aged but crystal-clear voice that suddenly spoke.

“Well done, Martha,” it said. Martha spun around scanning the room until her straining eyes fell upon an old woman sitting at the kitchen table. She was dressed in black from what Martha could tell, a heavy woolen coat or shawl covering all but her face and hands which rested folded together on the table.

Surprisingly, Martha felt calm, not fearful and she replied, “Have we met before? How do you know my name?”

“Oh, we met quite awhile ago, my dear,” said the woman seated at the table. “I’m someone people often try to forget, I’m used to not being welcome.”

Martha noted sadness in the old woman’s voice and felt sorry for her. She racked her brain trying to remember when and where she’d met her. “I’m so sorry but I just don’t remember meeting you,” said Martha.

“Come sit at the table with me,” said the old lady, “maybe with the dim light in here, you can’t see me clearly.”

Without hesitating, Martha walked to the table and pulled out the chair closest to the woman and sat down. But her attempt to show acceptance and friendliness ended in a stifled scream when she looked directly at her wrinkled, craggy face. Martha knocked over her chair when she stood up abruptly, a look of horror in her eyes.

“As I expected, Martha,” said the old lady. “Please, take a deep breath and sit down again, I will not harm you. I have visited you often since he died but usually quite briefly. Perhaps this time you’ll be able to spend more time with me.”

Martha surprised herself and sat down, overcome with a sense of curiosity rather than her usual dread and avoidance. “What is it that you want, Grief? Why must you torture me with painful flashbacks that crack my heart more than it already is,” Martha said, anger rising in her voice. “Why can’t you leave me alone! I’m so tired of hurting.”

“I know you are, Martha. But, you see, I will never leave you, it’s my job. I’m to be with you until you die, it’s just the unfortunate truth.It happens with all mortals. I am Grief and sometimes I cause pain that in the beginning seems unbearable but in time it softens, especially when one sits with it for longer, explores the feelings beyond the pain.”

Martha hesitantly nodded in understanding despite the dampness she felt on her cheeks and the tightness in her chest. Choking on the sobs that wracked her, she finally gave in and wept. Grief sat quietly and gently took Martha’s hand. When the outburst subsided, Martha looked into the old lady’s eyes seeing sparks of beauty instead of malice. She felt a small sense of peace.

“I know I have fought so long and hard to keep you at bay most of the time, but once in awhile I allowed myself to accept your presence. I recorded these times by writing poems about you.”

“Do read one for me,” said Grief, smiling and handing Martha a notebook.

Martha took the notebook with a shaky hand turning the well-worn pages carefully until she found what she wanted. She began to read immersed in her own words written not so long ago.

When Grief knocks, open the door.

She’s really not someone to deplore.

It’s true she shows many a face,

often ones for which there is no space.

Like anger and rage, scalding hot pain,

no wonder her presence drives you insane.

But some of her faces are gentle and kind,

remove despair, place hope in your mind.

Once seated, she pulls from her voluminous pouch,

photographs and cards to spread on the couch.

Curiosity replaces your anxiety and fear

as you cautiously move when she beckons you near.

Your eyes fill with tears as you reminisce,

Thinking of him and all that you miss.

Then suddenly a warmth permeates your heart and soul,

Erasing, for a while, the sadness that has taken its toll.

And all this time she has held your hand,

Quietly respectful, she does understand.

Sweet memories stored, mine now to find.

Grief’s not always awful, she sometimes is kind.

Martha looked up when she finished her poetry reading and smiled at Grief knowing now why she had come to the gathering; she’d had her own private one to attend.