Dealing with grief part three
OUT OF THE NIGHT THAT COVERS ME
We returned home on Sunday 11th February.
The house was cold, but a wood fire had been burning to take off the edge in the kitchen. Soon another was blazing. It smelt of old stone but not musty or damp, although the bedding felt damp. It was 2 degrees in the bedroom. Hot water bottles and socks were needed, and for once my night hot flushes were welcome.
We woke in our safe space, together. Knowing we would be together now for longer than a few days at a time. We’d missed the physical comfort of each other. We kept the fire burning, heating up the place in which we could heal. We slept until we woke, we sat in front of the fire, we rested, giving time to our bodies which were unfit and unhealthy. I still had a cough, the name in the UK was the ‘100 day cough’ and how true that was. It was relentless. My energy levels were low. We were sad, dull, pale, fragile, aching in joints, heads, and hearts.
The wood fire began to heat the house and us. We hugged each other a lot. Sat in front of the fire a lot. Enjoyed the peace of being home. We made changes to rooms, toddler proofing the lounge, changing the office into a double creative studio, swapping the guest bedrooms around to suit little guests as well as large ones. We snuggled in as the walls retained more heat. Ventured out into the garden and breathed in nature when the sun shone, even went for short cycle rides and I discovered how much fitness I had lost in 5 months of no cycling. Lactic acid. Ouch. But I knew it would pass.
After just three days we were feeling stronger, and then we learnt something that I cannot disclose, but that pulled at our hearts and darkened our skies. About ten minutes after we heard this news, I received a text to say that my Dad was dying. I knew he was weaker, thinner, losing weight, losing more of his long-term memory as well as total loss of his short-term memory, losing control over bodily functions, but I never expected to hear this news so soon, that he had only days to live.
I didn’t cry, I was shocked and numb. Overload. I focused on the other news. Was there anything we could do? Feelings of frustration, despair, anger, unfairness, and deep sorrow muted into a wall of numb. I thought I knew numb, but this was a different beast.
The Art Journal photo above expresses how I felt in that week, that crushing week of darkness and despair, of surreal, numb, unwanted news.
These are the words beneath the artwork.
OUT OF THE NIGHT THAT COVERS ME IN DULL COLOURS, TEARS FROM THE DEPTH RISE IN THE HEART AND GATHER TIME TO GRIEVE
We are home but the hope of peace and time to heal snatched away. Heart wrenching news I cannot copy from the page, but it’s there, beneath, screaming its sorrow and anger. News of my dad dying. Shock and numb. No tears. A surreal world. It’s not my life. I watch from afar. Blank. Numb. It is not a strong enough word. I watch this woman go through the motions of life. Feel other’s eyes upon her, wondering why she isn’t wailing, sobbing, crying. Too much sadness and grief, so none. Not possible to process all the layers. It’s gone somewhere. A tear or two at unexpected times, mixed grief, a pot of confusion. More emotions than my sensitive bruised soul can handle. Is it all mine? Does some of it belong to others? I set barriers. Come across as cold, unfeeling. Too much of my own to have sympathy for others. I am not all here. Where have I gone? Where do we go? Will I come back?
If you have enjoyed this BLOG please consider buying me a coffee
Thank you for reading my Blog, you can find more about me here...
Comments
Post a Comment