In Greek mythology, there is a story about Sisyphus, who was the founder and king of Ephyra. The short version of the legend is this: Zeus punished Sisyphus for his trickery (he was a cunning man) and, for cheating death twice, forced Sisyphus to roll an immense boulder up a mountain. The added punishment was that the boulder, each and every time it neared the summit, would roll down, forcing Sisyphus to repeat the task for eternity.
I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve begun this post with the fable of Sisyphus.
Or, maybe you’ve used the title of the post to help solve that particular puzzle.
You see, today, November 23, 2022, marks three years since ovarian cancer claimed my sister, and each and every day since that Saturday in 2019 I have pushed a boulder of grief up a proverbial mountain to only have it tumble down, forcing me to repeat the task the following day.
Some of you reading this post might say, ‘Enough already, get over it; it’s been three years, for goodness sake.’
The truth, though, is that we all grieve at our own pace.
Don’t get me wrong, I manage to find reasons to laugh, smile, sing, dance, and enjoy ice cream. More so now that I’ve finally climbed out of my rabbit hole of depression thanks to the magic of chemistry. Seriously, now that I’m back on an antidepressant, suicidal thoughts have been banished and I can see sunshine where dark clouds of despair once filled the sky.
Sadly, antidepressants don’t remove grief. Loss of a loved one, be it a person or cherished pet, is a tough boulder to carry. You just get that damn rock near the top of the mountain, convinced you’ll reach the summit, and something simple as a scent, or song on the radio, or a flower, sends you tumbling down the mountain, with the boulder pounding your soul and heart as it rolls over you.
But for today I refuse to move the immense stone of my grief. I’ll let it rest at the mountains base and I’ll eat a lemon donut (my sister’s favorite type of donut), have a cup of pumpkin spice coffee (another of her favorites) and I’ll let my sadness bath me in its warmth.
Tomorrow I’ll get back to moving that damn rock.
Blessed be :}
Mi manchi, mia amata immortale.