Grief is... Colorful?
The other day, I found myself looking up poems about grief. I am often fond of words that attempt to encompass the chaos that is loss: a feeling none of us will escape this world without feeling in some capacity (and for some of us, too much of it). It can present complex in our gut, rising up our shoulders, or weighing down our legs. It’s often as simple as a whisper in our head, a lyric from a song, or a dull ache that you know deep down no words will accurately describe.
Sometimes, grief is both. Let me tell you, I have enough lyrics and poems and TedTalks for every feeling. The poem that stopped me in my tracks is simple, a short string of words that I feel includes it all: the ebb and flow of the ocean that is navigating the loss of a loved one. It was written by W. S. Merwin:
This is my brother Tommy. Beyond a big brother, he was a son, a college student, a race car fanatic, a server, and the best karaoke singer around. What's that? You wanted to hear an uncanny cover of Cartman singing Styx's Sail Away? Tommy had you covered. I couldn’t see it at the time, but so much of what I did and who I am were the colors he presented in my life.
Purple was the laughter I remember as a child, having a big brother (14 years apart!) who could still be bothered to come around and play with me. The early evenings where he would need to catch a plane but was always up for one more round of hide and seek. Even as the family dynamic changed, or even when we found ourselves in another state on vacation, there he was. I never got to tell him how much that meant to me in my formative years of learning about what family truly is.
Blue represented the feelings I know Tommy held in for so long for feeling everything so deeply. This weight is something I didn’t fully understand until the past few years of my life. I still consider this shared trait the worst and best part of me.
Yellow was from the musings of others who mentioned that even though Tommy had some heavy things to carry, you would never know it based on the way he made those around him feel. A laugh or joke often did the trick. I wish I knew more of them by heart.
Red was for Ohio State, of course. That one is a no brainer. I don’t know what I’m talking about, but some days I secretly watch scores and smile (not too much this season, though...).
In the years since his death, the colors have changed. It’s my job to embrace them.
Pink represents anytime I am called out for my authentic giggle- one I used to mask, but now bring out just because of the reminders of how you would laugh.
Green is for anytime I feel jealousy watching my friends and family spend time with their siblings. From wedding parties to matching tattoos to starting families to holidays, it’s the color I try to suppress, even though I know what happened wasn’t fair.
Orange is the beautiful sunset I saw at your celebration of life. I’m pretty stoked to report that in ten years, through different cities and time zones, yours still takes the cake.
All the colors blend together when I remember the people (I like to think) you brought into my life, from students to colleagues to friends that feel more like family. The experiences I won’t get to talk to you about, but it doesn’t stop me from trying. The legacy you left behind for all of us that miss you. The songs I sing for you, even when no one knows.
Grief is pretty colorful when you think about it. I miss you, but I am so damn thankful you painted my world forever.