For me, grief is a heavy garment that cloaks my body and drags behind me. Sometimes it covers my eyes, making it difficult to see beyond it. Sometimes it covers my nose and mouth, making it difficult to breathe deep and cleansing breaths. Sometimes it holds me down in place and the world just moves around me. When that happens, I can see the world and I want to take part in it, but I just cannot.

And then, without any rhyme or reason, the grief lightens and I am free. I can walk the dog with my head held high. I can cross country ski around the park. I can sing and dance. I can knit with speed and agility.

There is also an in-between. A weight of grief on me that allows me to do the things but without the joy.

From what I know and read, grief moves of its own accord. It cannot be forced. It will rest on me for as long as it does.