The rain fell gently as she sat there and reminisced on the times that used to be, with a nostalgic sense that was coated with sobriety. It had only been 3 days since the burial of her mother and Chipo could now feel the sharp pangs of pain taking residence, loneliness slowly creeping in and taking a hold of her existence. Chipo was still not trying to find the first words whose spine was strong enough to carry the weight of this pain. Like yesterday and the day before it, she did not try much, most people had stopped trying to make her speak. And as she looked vacantly into the empty space before her, the rain fell softly, as if careful not to touch too violently the hems of this pain she was not beginning to put to perpspective. She shuffled and rearranged her skirt, smearing her left leg with a bit of mud. Not caring, without meaning to, what now faced her was the daunting task of having to navigate life without the person that had been her rock and pillar since her entrance onto this earth.
Unlike the wailing that had constituted the funeral, she sobbed bitterly as she poured over her thoughts and played hostess to the multitude of feelings that were overwhelmingly consuming her. Grief brings out traits of ourselves that we may go through our entire lives without knowing. Grief can either drag you in, break you down and spit you into a cycle of desolation and despair or push you over the edge, giving you wings to fly past your pain. This tricky labyrinth was something that Chipo would have to navigate. But for the mean time her tears streamed endlessly, they somehow seemed to know that their master was in need of them and like loyal servants they took heed to the call and came to her back and service. Chipo had a grief untold, a grief only her tears seemed to understand, manifest by the way they came to watch as it unfolded. She watched the rain and as another drop hit the ground and vanished underneath it…dust to dust.