I think I've mentioned this before, so please excuse the repeat. On Jeff Buckley's album Grace there is a recording of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" that is one of my favorite songs ever. I have on multiple occasions just sat with that song on repeat for hours at a time. At the very beginning of the track there is a single breath, and at times it has seemed very important to me to determine whether that breath was the sound of someone inhaling or the sound of someone exhaling. I have never reached a definitive conclusion, and my leaning at any given time likely has more to do with my state of mind than with any clues in the recording.
My rather obscure point is that yesterday a lot of you shared with me a bit about the shapes of your own grief and walked me around the edges of your losses to show me something about their size and nature, and it gave me the same feeling as I get from that single breath at the beginning of "Hallelujah." I wanted to know whether you were inhaling or exhaling so that I could do it with you.
I didn't respond to most of those comments, because I didn't know what to say, and often I think there's just flat nothing in the universe that is possible to say on the topic of grief, of death, of love, of loss. But I wanted to thank you, for that, for coming here, for sharing the funny and ridiculous and painful and debilitating bits of your lives with me. And I wanted to say that I am trying to take that breath with you.