The Right To Grieve

Yesterday another close friend has left us. Flown the coop. Left without a forwarding address. Asta lavista baby.

Do I seem in an odd mood? Well you are so bright and in tune. How much death can we handle? How many more loved ones will we be able to properly grieve without becoming hard and brittle like leather left outdoors to dry in the elements?
I say we but in reality I mean ME, I, Singular because there is only me that is writing about this on my blog. Am I over thinking or over feeling. Possibly but that does not seem to make it feel any better. Sometimes I feel like everyone around me is looking at me with the faint smile showing but so much more is going on behind it. Like good god! When will she get a life? When will she stop going on about the dead and death and sorrow of people dying around her. From this summer in august I have lost one, two, three good female friends to cancer and there is trying her best to hang on. I think that this is too much! Don’t you?

Maybe others are more comfortable accepting these deaths then I am. Da obviously.

I love my friends and I like to make them laugh and pay attention to them and help them. I want them to feel comfortable to speak of their fear of death if that is what they need. I will gladly discuss coffins and cremation and laugh at the craziness of it all because I feel we should be more involved with the celebration of death. We have all or we will all live a full life no matter what it is that we do. Perhaps because I am visual and verbal artist I look a bit deeper to see how things work or click. I remember I used to be afraid of the process of things dying so one summer I put dead birds [ that fell from flying into the windows, not by my hands] in different decomposing situations so I could familiarize myself with death.  In Prince Edward Island its customary to bring the body home and stay there for 24 hours as their last night and allow the family and friends to visit and start the grieving process. I think that is the way it should be. We have built up this great fear of something that will happen to ABSOLUTELY ALL OF US.  There is no way in the world that anyone will get away with NOT DYING.  So why do we shy away from it?

I have digressed. I am feeling a loss, a loss of a friend that had such a good heart and contributed so very much in society. If we are living our lives for a purpose then I have to confess again that I really don’t know what purpose I am fulfilling here. To date I feel more and more that I feel like I have been physically beaten. My body hurts, my jaw feels locked, my neck has lightning bolts that shoot through it, I can sleep for ten twelve hours without pills. All I want to do is sell my property so I can move to Newfoundland and be on my own. I really don’t know how much beating we can take in our life. What I don’t want is to become tough, to be hardened and get over someone near me dying  as quickly as changing my clothes. I love my friends and I will always grieve their passing. They deserve my grief for they made a real difference to my life.
They Are Dropping Like Flies

They are dropping from the sky
I do not question why
everyone must die

like pulling a ticket in a supermarket
or waiting in line
approaching the final checkout
the cart is full of our life’s accomplishments and regrets
waiting in line for our number to be called

items of time spent gets scanned
afternoons spent lying on the grass watching the clouds,,,,$6.49
smiles given freely to passing cars,,,,,,,,, .$5.25
getting lost on the internet,,,,,$99.20
spending time and our life with friends when they need us,,,,, Credit 100.00
time spent being angry,,,,$209.00
we can see those moments captured and displayed on the over head screen
sitting at the curb watching an ant carry a huge berry,,,,,$2.50
watching colours and squiggly lines under our eye lids,,,,$1.25
more blocks get scanned and we can see the pain
thoughts appear on the screen like a scrolling poem
these are moments that have made an impact on us


we all born with a clock embedded in the base of our necks?
some a slowly unwinding clock
that eventually looses its spring
others get hit with a hammer and are pulverized

I have seen the slow unwinding spring
It may be considered a soft exit for it gives all of us so much time
to speak, to listen, to remember, to laugh
are we the ones that judge the quality of the life we have lived?

there is no greater being with a long white robe pointing fingers
I take comfort in knowing that our spirit is what makes us
When I see the loved ones waiting for the number to be called
i am sad and feel great loss
for I will not have the pleasure of their company
I am not sad that they are leaving
for the trip they are on is a splendid one
I am sad for I have to stay behind
Still, I smile, raise my hand and say bon-voyage


Pierrette, Rosemary, and Rita
March 5 2016



June 4 2015

Grief is a trickster.
day two of my being home.
home a place that once was and I now have to find out if it still is.
home. what is it really? as I look up the definition I am amazed and at the variety of this small four letter word.
basically we say a place where we live from one time to another and where you receive post. where one lives or where one’s roots are. to the fullest extent. to drive a point home. dwelling. home is where the heart is.
to conclude I would have to say it means a whirl of things.

the first full day I was here, home, I saw everything with strangers eyes. the house seems worn out, tired. I haven’t had a creative thought since I came back here. Yes I know its only two days but it should inspire, shouldn’t it? I know that B does not expect me to continue living his dream here. This is my inheritance and I should take the biggest advantage of it.

Before I came out this week I allowed myself to fantasize about converting the studio into my living space and selling the corner with the house. That failing I could open an artist residency. These are thoughts that should accompany a 30 year old not 60.

There is much love within these walls but there is also much hardship. The immense struggles of making a living from ones art. The disapproval and jealousy from piers. He would often say, ‘no one likes a winer’.

I sit here in a chair that he often sat in. I’m looking down onto the tiled floor where is trusted dog lays. I remember how he used to count the tiles beneath him to mark how fast he was growing. This companion of his is also very old and will most certainly not make the winter. I look at him and think that I just can’t take care of him too. I know I should be able to but I fear that it might pull me back to the depts of darkness. A darkness that I once wanted to make permanent. Do I have the strength to not succumb, again?

To just think it makes me feel guilty. That I’m letting him and B down. I look at those white whiskers and see him sitting next to B in the afterlife.
I had not thought this through. I just wanted him back quick so I could somehow bring B back as well. I mean it all makes sense doesn’t it? I come home after 5 ½ years, I bring Janus back but two days and no sign of B. Not a whisper, not a conversation in my dreams. I was wrong to think I could manage to somehow have the clocks stop and I could live in the night. Happily would I do so. Grief is a trickster. It lets you feel good for a while. It lets you feel the grass on your toes while the sun bathes your body with its warmth. Medication keeps the tears at bay giving you the illusion that you have cried your last cry. Then unexpectedly you walk into a situation where all that was meets with all that is and your on the balance beam again. Your standing on uncertain stones trying not to breath for you could fall off. The question is are you balancing to survive or holding onto a moment to let your soul absorb every emotion, to relish in the experience the moment of choice.. Stay or go..

My first morning waking in our bed in our room looking at his majestic mural on our wall. I could see the bridge as a gate. Past the gate were faint images of his essence. There was also a large birds head but the end of the beck there was another smaller birds head. There was also an erect penis, [isn’t there always hehe] The strangest thing of all were four letters that kept coming into focus and going. it was M O V E.

Was that a sign from B on the other side or was it my subconscious peering out? I can go both ways on that thought,,,,,, buttttt I do have the stronger feeling that its B trying to help me out of this room I have locked myself in.

I’m sorry if my post today was not an inspiration. This widowed without a manual still holds truth.

Seven Hundred and Thirty Days and Nights

October 2 1014

Two years.

Seven hundren and thirty days and nights.

When I think of waking up seven hundren and thirty times I feel exhausted.

I wonder to myself, why do I even commemorate this day?

The day my husband died!

Would it not be better , emotionally anyway to commemorate the first time we made love, or the first time we looked at eachother and just knew that a life had just begun.

Why do we commemorate when someone very dear to us left?



On that moment.

That split second, we become consumed with sadness.

There is a void. Black emptiness where someone once filled the space, now no more.

Like a lung collapsing,whusshhhhhhhhh.

It takes us a while before we can take a deep breath again.

A while before we fully understand that we are now alone.

While friends and family are vastly important it’s often better not telling them of this lonliness.

They take it personally, or feel insulted that their presents does not compare.

Days do get better. Meds help a lot.  



Grieving may be embarrasing to others.

Grieving is an extension of the love I feel.

For me anyway.

Everyone is different.

Today I feel an intense pain in my chest. I know its because my mind has learned how to shut things out, but the pain just shows up somewhere else.

Two years.

Seven hundren and thirty days and nights.


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