Widowed Without A Manual

Some of us grieve longer then others. I will not be rushed out of my love, that still inhabits my heart.

I Dream of a Place Where we could all go to mourn.

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Had my regular dreams of horrors of long term care. People being made to wait on toilets.

Having to over hear the care workers, [take that word ‘care’ lightly] tell dear old people that their time to go to the washroom was over and if they had to go that they should go in their diapers!

YES MY FRIENDS! this happens and we can all say, ‘That’s Terrible but really you don’t fully understand the HORROR till you have heard it time and time again. At times I would intervene challenging the care worker with bodily harm, but as time went I too begin to choose a handful that I could I could let in my heart besides B. I am often haunted that I have only been back twice. Not being a relative restricts my powers greatly.

Having completed two more paintings I had decided that with a freezing rain weekend upon me I would treat myself with a bottle of wine and admire my own work. Well by the end of the night the bottle was empty and my night’s sleep ruined. The waking at 2am destroyed any plans for a productive saturday.

I get so annoyed with myself. I dine alone. Sleep alone. Live alone. Alone alone alone. When do we adjust to this? I am torn. I like and want to be alone but I don’t think its good for me.

I am following my gut and grieving fully, completely. Every book says you have to go through it! You have to let it take its course. I wish we had places to grieve. A town would be good, somewhere by the ocean. All of us could ware a sari or afghan of the colour we feel that day.

Black for the darkest of days and not to be approached.

Blue for days requiring hugs.

Violet could be for days of wanting to speak and days open for therapy circles.

Saffron for days healthy enough to go for walk or day trips.

Red now this would be the colour of warnings waring red would signify alert and should be monitored.

Pink could be days of discovery. days to create.

White… The pureness of this would be days of meditation, thought, processing, resting, writing. 

Melon green, the colour to refresh, salt baths, massages, reflexology, touching.

Now there should also be beautiful long silk scarfs of separate .colours that we could add to our robes to signify touches of different transitional moods.

Pale Grey, now this colour would signify wanting to help others. Waring this colour would open us to assisting in what ever way we could. The would be the colour of giving back or paying forward.

AH would life not be wonderful.

Image  

My dream ended with live white horses on display in a gallery how odd is that.

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Author: ilovecloudstoo

I live in Canada though​ I was not born here. Newfoundland is where my heart breathes. Primarily I am a visual artist, welded and or cast bronze sculptures. Sylvia Plath may have been the seed planted in me that is creating poetry. Since then I have read so many great modern poets work. Art is my sustaining business poetry sustains my soul.

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