The importance of grief tending

As winter approaches it's more challenging to tend and spend time at Hunter's grave. Yesterday it was muddy and slippery yet still, there is something so calming about the ritual of caretaking this sacred place. What anchors me on this journey are small acts of grace-- lighting candles throughout my house, burning sage, sitting in silence, doing restorative yoga, writing.

Tending to my soul means moving slowly, having fewer conversations, staying home, keeping warm, and eating well. It means checking in with myself-- do I have the energy for that? will it fill me or deplete me? what if I have to do it-- how can I nourish myself afterward?

I have to sit with the discomfort of receiving love, support, food, and resources when my ability to reciprocate is almost non-existent. It's an awkward cracking open of my heart to allow you into the mess, to see the flowing lava, pulsing sap, trickling spring-- to lean into the accepting arms of the mother. It's an act of faith to grieve like this-- to trust the net holding me, to speak my truth as it bubbles up.

There is no time for harboring hurts. For me, part of grieving is naming what is true in each moment even when inconvenient or uneasy.

Why wait?