He was standing and holding her. Tight enough to give her the support she needed, loose enough to give her space to expand her grief to its fully extend and to let it go. She was wearing the body of a mature woman but its action was the one of a child; leaning on him, slightly bent towards him - almost curled under the heavy pain. Her eyes were closed tight, her eyebrows frowned, her mouth wide open. No tears were wetting her cheeks, no sound leaving her open mouth - pure, clean, simple silence was all there was.
And I looked at him - a wise serenity was lying on his face, like a soft curtain hanging perfectly down a window. He knew all too well that holding her was all he could do.
And when I looked at her again, her face reminded me that there is a pain that we can set free, that we can cry out into the world. And that there is an overwhelming pain that fills us entirely, that leaves no air to breathe. A vacuum created by pain that leaves us - mute.
