I have been selfish in my grief these past two years, two months, and twenty-one days. It is true that I have not been able to hold space for the grief of others, and I have known it was true while it was happening. The loss pulled me ever inward, and all I could do was search for the strength to bear it. My eyes have been blind to the pain that Corey's loss has caused those closest to me. And for that I am deeply sorry. I want to show up unfailingly for my loved ones, who are also Corey's beloveds; I want to be an unwavering column of strength and light for them.

But the waves of grief move with a force of their own choosing; they do not obey the directives of my will. If it had been emotionally and spiritually possible for me to hold still for others during these past two years, I would have done it with a humble heart. Just as I would have given my life a thousand times to keep Corey on the planet, so would I give everything I have to nurture my two children who remain here in the physical; I would give my life a thousand times to take away their grief.

My apologies are in order not only because I have lacked the stamina to nurture others in their grief; I also have said things that caused them pain or discomfort, and there is no taking that back. I meant well--I thought I was doing what was best for them, thought I was proactively helping them with their grieving process, and, crazy as this sounds, I was convinced that I was acting under a directive from Corey--but my day of atonement has arrived along with my slowly clearing vision. 

Since Corey catapulted from the planet on June 6, 2013, I have had several particularly intense and confusing avalanches of emotion--all happened when I was either physically ill or awake in the night grappling with the demons of death--when I emailed or texted something that caused the recipient pain. Essentially, I added to the grief. Those moments came over me like a drug, like a possession, to the point that within days or hours, I looked at what I had done and asked myself: What?!!! Did I really say that? Was that me? Where did that COME FROM?

Whatever it was, it came through me and I am responsible. I walk an emotional beam every moment, wielding the long balance bar to counter the unsteadiness of the ground beneath me, and those were moments in which I fell off the beam and knocked a few innocent people in the head with the wooden bar as I plummeted down.

Mea culpa. 

All I can think to say to people is: Have you wept enough?

In our culture, everyone asks: Are you over it yet? Have you finished your grieving? Have you been able to resume work and your normal life?

But I want to speak to the necessity of grieving. Many African cultures know that the dead must be properly grieved for their own sake, that some kind of spiritual progress takes place only to the extent that the grieving has not been avoided.

I have had several experiences of an African woman speaking to me or appearing before me in dreamtime since June, 2013. She asks: Have you cried enough? Have you wept in front of others so they can see how it is done? That it must be done? That it cannot be put off?

While the "to-do" list spans endlessly before us, the grieving waits, and the so-called dead wait for us to acknowledge their presence, to meet them in prayer, to release them as many times as it takes so they can move on, move on, move on, and yet they will always be with us.

In a dream last week, I heard these words: Rebuild the mall! Raise the dead!

And it had to do with getting into the foundation work, the grunt work, the dirty work of doing our grief work so that the way will be cleared for communion with the so-called dead. Corey's presence with me is amidst every breath. It is the force that allows me to grieve. I am doing it as hard and as loudly as I can so that I can let it go, let her go, and do at last what I came here for. Her birthday is tomorrow. Let us release who she was, while treasuring who she was, and embrace what she has to teach us now, in spiritual form. She is a bright, shining presence among us.