A Caregiver's Daisy Chain of Grief

All summer she scattered the daisy leaves;
they only mocked her as they fell.
She said: "The daisy but deceives;
'he loves me not,'
'he loves me will,'
One story no two daisies tell."
Ah, foolish heart, which waits and grieves
Under the daisy's mocking spell.

-- Helen Hunt Jackson, the Sign of the Daisy

Another day of letting grief go. It came unbidden, on its own. It filled my day, spilling over into the evening. My emotional faucet opened, and it flowed throughout the daylight, twilight, and dark. My personal river of tears, shedding grief. Pure grief. Then, as quickly as the faucet opened, it closed.

I still don't know what it is specifically I'm crying about. Certainly it's about losing Romeo to dementia, bit by bit. Certainly it's about us not being able to live our lives together. Certainly it's about saying good-bye. He loves me not -- how could he leave me like this? He loves me will -- he is such a sweet, gentle man to leave me quietly, slowly.

As the daisy (or day's eye) opens and closes with the sun, so my faucet of grief opens and closes like the kitchen tap. When it's running open, my tears could seemingly fill buckets. When it shuts off, I am dried up, empty, and wonder how much more is beneath the surface. While I want all of it to come out, I also wonder when or how I'll be able to live a "normal" life again.

Like many young girls, I plucked the petals off of daisies and asked those two questions incessantly: He loves me? He loves me not? Usually the daisies proclaimed that he loves me, even when there was no "he" involved whatsoever. Were those young girl "he-less" times foreshadowing my now? Maybe...maybe not. It hardly matters, really. I simply need to let it all out, however long that may take.