A Mourner's Discontent - June 26 2026

 

A Mourner’s Discontent 

June 26 2026

There will be grief in every life.

Because no one’s exempt from tragedy,

and is there even such a thing

as a timely death?

Bereavement seems inadequate;

the word sounds bloodless,

academic,

detached.

Like an anthropologist taking notes

while looking on

at the rawness of loss

and its disembowelled loneliness, 

at the anger, fear, and guilt

that seethe under the mourner’s skin

like maggots in a rotting corpse.

But to grieve

  — to be whipsawed from tears

to catatonia,

from brain fog to heartsick to numbness,

and from leaning on a wavering faith

to a feeling of abandonment

and fruitless search for meaning —

gets closer.

And if language is metaphor

it’s also onomatopoeia;

the banshee keening

of the word’s embittered eeeee

comes straight from the gut.

Because grief is embodied 

not just a state of mind.

Of course, everyone grieves in their own way.

Some scream, wail, and tear their hair.

Some repress

and can come across as cold.

While others lose themselves

in the small details

and unexpected paperwork;

the bureaucracy of death

can be formidable. 

But you can distract yourself 

only so long

before it wells up once more. 

It isn’t cured

and doesn’t resolve

but does eventually soften.

And it can feel like it’s yours alone,

even though you know it’s not. 

Because to live is to suffer.

And because love and pain

are inextricable;

the bargain

of a life fully lived,

and the risk of loving well.

Inspired by this recent piece from the New Yorker. 

What Science Knows About Grief
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2026/06/29/what-science-knows-about-grief

Frankly, my poem seems superfluous, because she’s a terrific writer and says everything better. The only reason I even tried is that unquenchable urge I have to put down words:  as if I can’t resolve my thoughts and feelings without processing them this way. As Joan Didion famously said: “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking.”