As one year ends and another begins, I start to wonder if I’ll ever forget the exact shade of ivory that hands turn after death. Or how a newly dead person looks like wax, not like the grey sunken shapes we see in movies and fiction.
Memories flow and threaten to drown me, the gurgle of a death rattle and the urge to vomit, laugh and cry all at once. How I didn’t cry, for weeks. How I can’t think about death now, without crying.
It feels like not coping, like anger, like heartbreak.
It feels like grief.
***
Two years pass and here we are, almost at the year of thirds.
You expect it to get easier. Not harder and yet, it is.
Nothing we can do, but put one foot in front of the other, and try and see the beauty in things, rather than taste the bitterness.
word.
Beautiful words my lovely. I remember stroking Mum’s dead hands and thinking how beautiful the colour was and how soft her hands were. I will make a glaze that colour one day and I will use it on my own personal tableware.
Remembering that there were good spirits waiting in the room with Mum also gives me comfort. The fairies in the painting and the little brown dog on the couch were as real in that room as we were.
I am pleased that you are crying now my sweetheart. You need to cry so that you can heal.
I love you.
No words, just sending lots of love. xxx
Keep on walking – just keep on walking
Love to you all. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain you are feeling. xxx
It’s coming up to my daughters 10th birthday – she’s been gone for almost 9 years & I’m seeing 9 year olds everywhere, reminding me that she’s not here. It’s shit.
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