But I know how it feels
to grieve without a funeral,
to ask “why?” to the ceiling,
to miss someone you’ve never met.
I have felt the injustice
of reckless insensitivity
of comments that pierce like knives
of children abused, unwanted, abandoned.
I know what it means to carry around an invisible grief on your back every day,
a grief that feels
like it should disable you,
like you should be in a wheelchair.
I’ve memorized all the faces of suffering–anger, fear, jealousy, despair.
People say, “It will get better.”
Which isn’t exactly true.
But you will learn to live with it, like someone who’s lost his right arm learns to live with just the left.
Dear friend, I don’t know what you’re going through.
I’ve never walked the path you’re on.
But I have walked the one beside it.