I still have barely posted. But, I have been writing. In fact, I have done more writing in this past year than I ever have -- and I can see the results of all that writing. My writing has improved. Due to certain circumstances of my life, however, I cannot post most of my writing online - yet. Eventually, those circumstances will leave my life, forever, I hope. Then, I will be able to post all my writings -- writings that describe the many and terrible losses I have sustained since my beloved Barry died. Those writings describe my life as it was, and as it became, and then, as it is now. In brief, my life now is a culmination of many of those losses -- but also of how I have turned those losses into simple passages of my life and time -- and into a good life for myself.
In the meantime, I am going to slowly begin to post some of what I have written, perhaps in chronological order, perhaps not. The first piece I am posting is one I wrote in the beginning, before all the losses accrued, and my only loss (or so I thought) was my late husband.
Cobwebs of grief
After my husband died, I found myself “cocooning” more. I bought the most comfortable sheets, blankets, quilts, down comforters, pillows, robes, pajamas. (And I NEVER wore pajamas before!) I
want to wrap myself up in warmth and softness. I want to sink into it, to bliss out, to feel my brain go quiet, to pay attention to my breathing, to fall asleep in peace, to wake up in peace, warm and
cozy, with a smile on my face.
I would take hot baths, filled with fragrant suds, my body slipping down into the water, reveling in
the feel of its liquid warmth enveloping me. My hearing aids removed, all would be quiet, and all would be still.
But cobwebs of my grief block the warm cozy feelings from coming over me. I am unable to reach
that blissful state of being. I stay up too late, not wanting to go to my lonely bed. I let my cats
come in and sleep with me, something I never did before.
In bed, I toss and turn, unable to turn my brain off. In the bath, I am unable to relax, to sink
blissfully into its fragrant liquid warmth.
I try to watch TV and find myself flipping from channel to channel, for an hour or more. I try to read a book and I read the same line, over and over again.
These cobwebs of grief, they form a veil over my eyes, they are formed all around the perimeters of my brain, and appear impenetrable, like the thorny barbed wire used to keep interlopers out. In my case the interloper’s name is “peaceful being”.