I'm no wordsmith, but I'd like to try to pass on some thoughts I had on exploring the local churchyard many years ago, at a turbulent time in my life. The condition of the various graves, old and new, seemed to reflect my changing feelings. The new graves were tidy and trimmed, with fresh flowers. Older graves had flowers planted or were grassed over, still neat but needing less attention. The oldest graves were neglected, overgrown with nettles, ivy and cow-parsley, but there was a feeling of peace about them which the others lacked. In the same way, new grief may be clear-cut and its pain sharp, but there comes a time when we can start to let go of it without feeling guilty, and we find peace only when we no longer need to nurse it.
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