Sacred Scarf

By: I AM Katrina

Grief didn’t arrive gently.
It pinned me down.
Tied me without rope.
I did it to myself-
nailed my own skin to memory,
my bones to stiff silence,
my breath to what I couldn’t say aloud.

It felt like punishment.
I did it to myself-
for loving too deeply,
for losing what love couldn’t hold onto.
I was still.
But Not in peace—
in paralysis.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.

Fixed to a version of myself that no longer lived.
A version of myself that no longer breathed.
A version of myself without You.
Without Us.
Without Me.

And then—
this healing didn’t come in tune.
It came in twitches.
In cracked prayers.
In long, sleepless nights
where I stopped pretending, I was okay.

The Mesh Citrus Bag appeared—
not magical, not perfect—
but real.

Like a second skin for the grief I couldn’t carry alone.
I wept into it.
My sobs pooled inside,
but they didn’t drown me.

My Mesh Bag was breathable,
but not reachable.

The bag stretched.
The more I cried,
the more it held.
It did not break.
It grew.
My family didn’t look away.
My friends didn’t run.
However, I could see it in their eye,
my bag had come undone.

They helped me hold it open,
gathered my fragments without trying to fix them.

And God—
I know God was there too.
Not speaking.
Just listening.
Just stitching the fabric of my pain
until it became something holy.

One day,
grief will loosen its grip.
Become softer.
Lighter.
Not gone—
but wearable.

I want it to rest on my shoulders,
an orange, stitched, fabric scarf.
It warms.
It flows in the wind.

Sometimes I drop it.
Sometimes I clutch it close.
And sometimes—
it dances,
and I remember your love again.
I know now:
this is what grief becomes
when I let it breathe.
Not a chain,
not a curse—
but a companion, in life.


And when the day comes
that the scarf floats off
into some wind I don’t control,
I’ll whisper goodbye.
And know it will return
when it needs to.


To grieve
is to love after the ending.
And that, in itself,
is a sacred love.


I Am Katrina
05/01/2025

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