Loss

After great pain a formal feeling comes--

The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;

The stiff Heart questions-- was it He that bore?

And yesterday--or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round

A wooden way

Of ground, or air, or ought,

Regardless grown,

A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead

Remembered if outlived,

As freezing persons recollect the snow--

First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

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Emily Dickinson masterfully describes the stages of pain after some excrutiating experience. Immediately after the loss, the numbness allows us to get over a torn heart, moments of grief that are just too much to carry. Chill, stupor and finally the letting go, only after some time that can only be defined by each individual. I'm thinking of you, Imani. And I also remember you, mom and dad.