The First Time I Met Grief

The first time I met Grief…
was when I was about 
eight or nine.

We had a black cat 
called Marquis.

He was my sweetheart. 
He was my friend.
And I loved playing all sorts of 
imaginary games with him.

Looking back, 
I probably enjoyed those games 
more than he did…but he was kind 
and didn’t mind my 
eccentricity.

I still remember that feeling…
burying my tiny face in his shiny fur.
And loving him, oh, so dearly,
that it almost felt like my heart 
would explode.

He was the best cat for 
that little me.

But then, one day…
He was gone.

And just like that, 
my heart broke.

There are 
these moments that 
become carved into us forever.
Moments where we remember
every detail from the second 
we heard the bad news.

Where shock and devastation 
fell over us like the ashes of Pompeii…
preserving that exact scene 
in our lived history.

That was the first time 
Grief came into my 
home.

I didn’t know her back then.

Yet whenever I approached her,
I was quickly ushered along…
not to linger with her 
for too long.

I guess the people around me
didn’t want me to spend 
too much time with this odd and 
unwelcome stranger.

But she stayed in my memory.
I always remembered her.

Yet it was only when 
my mother passed away
that she returned…

So I welcomed her in.

And slowly, slowly…
I grew accustomed to her presence, 
to her quiet movements and 
wordless existence.

She stayed awake with me 
through the long nights.
And then covered me with a soft blanket 
when I finally gave in and 
closed my eyes.

I told her stories.
All the things I wished were still true.
And then I whispered all my regrets.
The things I longed to undo.

Some days… 
I cried and was angry at the world.
Some days I wished she would leave…
and then feared that she 
actually would. 

But she stayed. And listened.
Patiently.

She made me a cup of tea.
Passed me my journal 
and sat with me.

Over time, 
she became a part of me.
So familiar that I forgot to notice her.

Until losing our kitten, our darling Hazel,
made her visible again.

Only now,
she’s not a stranger anymore. 

She’s an old friend 
who knows her way around 
my home. 

She knows 
where the mugs are. 
How I like my tea.
She’s seen me at my worst. 
And still… 

Stays with me.

So now when I greet her, 
I don’t pretend that I’m fine…
I embrace her tight hug, 
and begin to cry.


With love,
Elina

Imagery / Self-portrait, 2025