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.


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The Waves Come and Go

This morning I decided to listen to a book I have wanted to read. Re-reading the same lines over and over is not a vey efficient method of getting through a book. The book is called “The Year of Magical Thinking” by Joan Didion. I came recommended to me from a friend, one that is very organized and a career person, she herself a widow. Joan is a writer and therefore has amazing research ability, this at times gives the book a mechanical feeling with all its foot notes etc. As I listen to it I am feeling justified by this I mean she is stating documentation of types of grief and reasons for them. I am I think of the Complicated Grief, pathological, meaning coming from an unusually depended of each other relationship. Well that certainly does draw a perfect picture of B and I.
Joan speaks of Waves that seems to be a common form of description of grieving. This apparently has been described as the emotion and actions of it around the world. I don’t feel so self absorbed when I hear these things. There is more informations reviled like how Grievers often take on the Look, one of extreme venerability, they look naked for they feel invisible. I have felt this often! I have walked around and noticed that I make no difference to others I walk near or sit near. This week I went to dinner with family members. A-M my sister in law is very supportive, and understanding. She brings up my beautiful new painting of great light colours and obvious signs of happiness, hoping to get my sister to bite and actually express verbal interest in my obvious improvement. Oh that’s good, and that was it! I tried to tell them of my locating a space to show but It was skipped over and left to rot at the side of the road like road kill. It is very easy for people to say, For get it, It does not matter. But it obviously does. I wish it did not. I suppose that is why I long to live away in Newfoundland. There I would physically as well as emotionally alone.
There are days like this that I think, Come on Get over It. Its been so very long. But it really has not. It has only been 2 years and three months 24 days 1 ½ hours.IMG_2660


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You Can’t Walk Away From Love

“She became someone more like herself”

This is not my line, but a line from a movie. A movie of love. It is making me think. To think more deeply about my life. B created a safe haven for me to explore. He lived his life to the very edge of every cliff. He did not hold back, not in his expressions of his art or the explorations of love.
I do miss the feeling of him covering my entire back with his body. To feel so loved and desired. Being so desired can make us feel like the very blood that gives life is being drained from us. When we love with our entirety, the idea of holding some for ourselves is the furthest from our mind for it’s our heart that controls us.
I did this, freely, willingly and blindly. Blindly for I had never been loved back like this. I must admit that I was addicted to him. I can still smell his very sweet skin. Our flesh had the same sweet fragrance, one that I no longer have. I only smell of whatever lotion I have on, but my skin, my freshly washed skin no longer has a fragrant identity.
I find it hard to even remember how long ago it was that he crossed over. There are days that I feel, “why are you taking so long to get over him!” Then I count on my fingers, month by month over and over yet the months don’t add up to what I feel and I feel very confused.

It feels so very long since I have looked into his eyes. I could always read his eyes. The unforgiving illness stole his voice but his eye, oh his eyes always new what to say to me. We had spent so much time looking at each other that words were no longer a necessity.
Still……… I do miss that voice. He sang opera to me and wrote me poetry. I was his muse.
Being his model was like getting high on the best grass. To have a lover as an artist and look at your every curve, the tones of your skin is so very erotic. With him I became comfortable showing my body. It was upon his recommendation that I swim without a top on. This took me a while to warm up to but once I did!! Well as B would say, It took me forever to get her to take her top off, now I can’t stop her” 🙂 He did try and teach me not to be so afraid and with him I was not. I am not proud of the fact that I have fallen back on this since he died. Hopefully it to will come back.
B was an intellectual and a great teacher. He welcomed discussion. B never made me feel inferior for youth.
I end this today with the final line of the same movie:

“You cannot walk away from Love’

The movie:
Original Sin with Angelina Jolie and Antonio Banderas

While this movie is in no way similar to my story, it is similar with love.ouDSC_0003


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Chameleon

lately i have been realizing that i have been living in other peoples lives.
not such a profound discovery ay.
from 1980 roughly I have been living with bruce.
living in a house he built for himself basically.
yes i participated in it.
he opened his life and invited me in.
i walked in and stayed.
he got ill.
he knew it.
i knew it.
but no doctors knew it.
he fell so many times.
the day my dog died i drank wine and fell asleep from my emotional sadness.
i woke hearing him call me and he was on his knees with the back door open in december.
he fell but could not stand himself up.
he could have frozen to death.
when i write this all the memories come back ten times and fill my body with such intense sadness.
it was so terrible what happened to him so absolutely incredibly terribly unjustifiably horrible what happened to him.
i lived in the hospital with him.
i lived in my mothers house from april 2009 to august 2011 when she died.
i then lived in her memories and lived in his room at the home till he died october 2 2012.
i continued to live in my mothers house till june 2014.
now i live in my sister in laws house.
am i a chameleon? is that what my life is?
have i traveled all this way, waking up everyday of my life to finally realize that i have not been creating my own life?
who am i?
i do know that i am an artist that is the one thing that i do know.
perhaps that is where i should start.
january 10 2015


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Newfoundland lives.

I miss newfoundland.
It feels like having had a short affair. One of many days full of discovery and just looking at each other. I had been wanting of sand beaches full of discovered shells. I only found one short span of a sand beach but it was frequent of sea weeds and rocks. I have fallen in love with the soft edged rocks that sing when the waves dance over them. I am in love with the waves, oh such waves! I have never related to waves of such depth and poetry. They spoke to me gently in my ears while their movement rocked me to neverland. I really wanted a sandy shore where the tide left twos a day and I could walk out onto the floor or its depts. Finding shells nearly all covered with sand. I found,,,,not a one in such a manner. But I did leave open the doors to my heart and in slipped the rocky shores and furry waves of newfoundland.
I am in love with newfoundland.

It knows but it is not afraid of sadness. The crusty winds that rush over her face never deter her. NFL knows who she is and does not try to be anything but. I need to go there some more so I may be.

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“grieving is like being stuck in a revolving door”

bach

So here it is another year to tuck into our pockets. There is always this expectation of the new year being better then the year just past. I’m sure that even the wealthy have such expectations. So what does that tell us about ourselves?

The wants for more and better?
I have just completed one of those quizzes on line. What emotion is hidden. Well apparently mine is ANGER, yup apparently I am suppressing all kinds of anger.
With the stages of grieving so we have to go through all stages?
I know now that you can go through the stages over and over again. So what is the point of stages? They should call it the revolving door stages.

The tolerance of friends are dwindling. I don’t blame them. I would dwindle as well.
Its the perpetual wave of tiredness. The fatigue that feels like lead pumping through my veins. A walk brings me a momentary high then my feet begin feel as if I am walking over warm tar.
I have to tell myself to take deep breaths. This blog is the only place left where I can get rid of all these feelings and words from spinning around in my shell.
Friends a wonderful and so caring and loving but they are full of their solutions, solutions that just make me feel less capable then before.
The music of Bach helps greatly and operas coat me with warmth and understanding.
I have a showing of 85 pieces to organize. Sculptures and paintings and writings. Whether there is success or failure I feel that it is a circle that I need to complete. Will it give me the energy I need to find a direction of my life?
Will it confirm doubts and make me hang up my drawing pens?
If its the latter there will be no purpose to go on. Am I angry? perhaps. Angry that I can’t afford to live in my own home.
From february 19 2009 I have been living in others pockets. I have looked after my husband with the utmost of love and care and diligence. My family have looked after me. Out of need I have tried to fit into puzzles but my own shape is fighting. I miss my life, my relationship, my friend B. When one person knows everything about you. When one person accepts you with all your thorns and loves you.
I don’t have the energy left in me to be open to another life. Understanding the makeup of hermits draws me to wanting to become a solitudinarian.
Most people would think this is a bad thing but I do not. We can not all be made of the cloth of survival and strength. Some may well just need solitude for to conform makes us tired.
That is how I feel today. What about you? How do you feel today.