“. . .time stretches out. Sixty, seventy or eighty years—they pass swiftly for us, but learn to breathe as humans do and time wraps itself around you, steps to the rhythm of your being, to the pulse of the space you choose to occupy.”  -excerpt from the work in progress-

I am revising a long work that I was working on before my husband died. I don’t know yet if it will be a novella or a novel, but it was the first thing that came to mind when I thought of writing again. Those who supported the kickstarter campaign that saw us through that most difficult time have probably read the En piece. It is from that piece that this longer work grew.

Today, I am thinking of change. I think of life and loss and of how we change in our approach to art and life. A good friend said to me once that when you have faced death, there is nothing left to be afraid of. It’s a thought that echoes over and over again in my mind.

I think of fear–and of the drive to publish and once published to be noticed, to be mentioned, to be read.

But when your focus is completely shot (loss can do that to you), you can’t music, art or write. There’s just you struggling to make sense of this thing that has overcome you. For a while, I wondered if the writing died when my husband died. The possibility of being happy again, of writing again–these were things that seemed right beyond my reach. Continue reading →

Some years ago, I lost a very dear friend. In memory of her, I wrote a remembrance of gains and losses. I think of gains and losses today because I am remembering.

I think of how life after loss is similar to a losing one’s way in the dark. Familiar things become unfamiliar, one becomes disoriented, and for a while, it is like traveling or walking inside a dream.

Perhaps that’s a good thing. Inside the cocoon I built for myself, the world went on and I couldn’t care less. I remember my sister scolding me when she got here and how I felt like I had reverted to my teenage years. After my sister went home, the world felt very strange. At times, it was as if my kids and I were siblings.

When word of my sister’s passing came to me, I felt as if the world caved in.

I think that if it were not for the steady and constant presence of one of our family friends, our family boat would have capsized and sunk. I was that lost.

But, we had counselling and regular visits from municipality assigned coaches. Slowly and surely, we got back–we are still getting back to our feet.

Yesterday, my coach told me that I seemed like a much different woman from the woman she met for the first time six months ago.

You are stronger now, she said. You are more present.

I can feel it too. I still don’t like going to the graveyard. Maybe in time, it will be easier. For now, I have a regular rite of remembering.  I refresh the flowers in the little vase, I put new trinkets in their corner. I tell them the little bird dropped by to say hello. The vase is from one of my lovely students, the flowers I picked up on impulse at the garden centre.  The shells are in remembrance of beach walks and beach visits.

I am thankful for the time I spent with both of you. I am thankful that I loved you. I am thankful I knew you. I am thankful for the lessons I learned while walking with you. I am thankful I have the memory of you to enrich me.

Light a candle. I remember.

I remember what it’s like to love…

How I am incredibly moved by the kindness of those whose lives touch mine.

And this is what it’s like…

To be embraced by gentleness

To see the face of generosity

To be touched by hands and hearts across the miles.

How do I say thank you?

How do I convey what’s in my heart?

I can only write the words and hang onto this knowing

This is love

Love is stronger than fear, is stronger than death, is far more powerful than hate.

And so…I remember love.