"She was no longer wrestling with the grief,
but could sit down with it as a lasting companion
and make it a sharer in her thought."
Somewhere in the crevices of my mind I was hoping there was a designated place specifically that would read
"Time to Grieve". One would spend an appropriate time of grieving and then one would consequently move on. Maybe it was conditioned in me when I was younger upon the death of my grandfather. Grandma wore black for a spell, I understood it to be her time to grieve.
I planted a little clay pot of tiny black basil seeds the day before yesterday. I water the black rich soil daily knowing those little seed's propensity to sprout quickly and thrive in hot weather is inevitable. Something about those little now hidden seeds created a sprout of grief in me.
Wrestling with it is to no avail. It is a loosing battle at best. Much better to let it sprout in its own good time in its own way and then tend it. Better yet, allow it to be a companion that will produce in the end something good. Several women had come up to me since my mother died and with a tone of voice that makes you stop and listen, they basically all say the exact thing,"There's nothing quite like the death of your mother, you will always miss her."