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.

My feather bed is my sanctuary

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My living room floor has a purple trunk in the centre, there is a foot rest in front of it and that is where I have  been sitting. Like the days so long ago, of working in the southern ontario fields picking tomatoes. My back aches!

I have been trying to make my way through boxes of  photos and negatives. I have not even attempted the slides. Two years ago I  bought myself one of those  gadgets that transfers all of these into digital images. Like most I think I never got one off. There was always going to be time to do things later. When later catches up with us the world feels like it crashes down. I often feel like I am in this crater and all these boulders are falling down on me.

Image

 

Yup that is just what it feels like!

Every boulder is something, like fear, insecurity, extreme fatigue, the list goes on.

I think having to focus on these small images on negatives eventually took a tole on me. Thousands of images dating back 40Plus years. Many are of sculpture documentations, progressives of commissions. I remember taking most of these for the past 32 years. If I don’t label, sort, fit in zipbags who will.

Downstairs I have a large trunk FULL of loose sketches that were often done as we were waiting for breakfast to come in local restaurants. B drew constantly and I tried to date everything he was terrible at doing that and signing. I was his lover, his confidant, his muse, his assistant, his photographer, his partner in ever way conceivable.

How do you get over that in 18months?

Today I had to escape all those images or I was surly going to start planing my exit. I was craving a schnitzel like you would not believe! Most of the time I do not eat flesh. I drove to the river, sat on a bench and ate with plastic a plastic fork. It was not as I craved, serves me right. Everywhere I go there are memories and those memories open others and more and more till your mind blows up. The skin around your chest feels like it is shrinking. Deep breaths make you cough and the grieving pain becomes physical. You can’t tell your friends these things, it’s just too much for most to hear. You can tell when the surroundings are topped up. That is why I have come to this blog I think. Writing in my journals was just not cutting it any longer. I feel that if I can make one grieving person not feel so alone then it’s all worth it. For alone is what we feel. So very alone. It’s something that will mend with time but you can’t fill your days with pretending to smile and be happy so your friends will feel better. We all need a place where we can scream to the clouds!!!!!!!!!!! and repeat how we feel. Often I get the real sense that if someone hears us once that should be enough. What they don’t get is that we need to repeat, and repeat, and repeat till we empty our well. Maybe then we will be ready to go on and think of the future. Who knows.

I am not a stupid person: I know what a grieving person should do: The problem is that when you ARE THAT PERSON You can’t move. Your brain closes the doors and only allows a bit to come out at a time. This I feel is a safe guard and I am glad of it.

Tonight I was in bed at 6pm, I was exhausted. I laid still on my back for three hours. My feather bed is my sanctuary.

Don’t let people tell you you are sleeping too much. We need to sleep, for in our sleep we heal.

If we were in a car crash and broke many bones and had bruises all over they would understand. The problem is our bruises are concealed inside us. Time does heal, I have to believe that. You should as well. 

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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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