Though I haven’t done it lately due to the shelter at home order, waiting on the metro train at 6:15 in the morning can be a little scary. It’s dark and a little chilly, especially during the winter months. I’ve struck up conversations with other women who are waiting on the train or bus, and it makes the platform a little less intimidating to have someone to talk to. One of these women is named Maria. I don’t know her last name, but I can tell from her nursing garb that she probably works as a nurse or nursing assistant. In the few minutes we have before the train arrives, we don’t talk about work. We talk about important things, like kids, family, health, and holidays.

Not long ago, I ran into Maria on the platform after I missed seeing her for few days. Her eyes were glistening with tears as she told me she had been off work because her sister-in-law (who was more like a sister) died unexpectedly from a blood clot. I only had about four minutes until my train, but in that short time, she spilled her sorrow, talking about her grief and how she had held it together the past few days for her brother and his grown children, including one daughter whose wedding was less than a week after her mother died. She told me how she was overcome with tears at work a few times during her shift and how the grief was starting to come out at the most inappropriate times. Though my grief had been from other types of loss, not the loss of a loved one, I spoke the truth I knew about grieving: that grief must be felt in the body and released, and that while we think it will never end and that we won’t be able to stop crying, most of the time the waves of grief will only last about ninety seconds before our bodies rebalance. Together, Maria and I shared the truth of our experiences. As my train clanged into the station, Maria pulled me into a hug. We still don’t know each other’s last names, but maybe our real last name is Humanbeing.

Photo courtesy of ThePhotoQueue