Archives for posts with tag: grieving my own way

A 20-Year Conversation

March 1, 2024 //
0

I’m sipping my coffee and thinking about the 20 year conversation documented in my archived emails that is the friendship I shared with my recently departed dear friend. It’s finally over, and that feels… strange. Over that 20 years, (which wasn’t the entirety of our friendship, just the portion documented in email exchanges) I sent 982 emails, and she sent 712, and then there were all the replies, and many of these include additional bits of back-and-forth within their threads. We spoke of art, love, life, work, and we shared music videos, cat pictures, and snapshots from assorted vacations and trips here and there. As my dear friend aged, some technological advancements became more challenging to adopt, and sometimes her health, or mine, was an impediment to replying (or replying at length) – sometimes it was just too hard to be on the computer, or to type on our cell phone. We never failed to stay connected, to keep in touch, and to start the conversation anew in a few days, or weeks.

We often shared moments of humor, some of them quite poignant “fun/not funny” sorts of moments. Sometimes we shared our challenges, seeking each others comfort, wisdom, or perspective. Sometimes we vented, seeking nothing but understanding, a chance to be heard. Life wasn’t always easy for either one of us.

We first met back in 1995, briefly. I was introduced to her by her son, rather casually, shortly after I began hooking up with him, in the midst of my divorce from my violent first husband. I was 100% pure chaos and damage, trying to rebuild something of myself out of the emotional wreckage that remained after I left my ex-husband. I wasn’t actually in a good place for a relationship, and a 32-year-old woman dallying with a much younger man when she so obviously needed to work on her own shit wasn’t a good look – and my (not yet) dear friend called me out on it, with frankness and clarity, and without being hurtful. She wasn’t wrong. She set explicit boundaries that she wasn’t in a place to make room for me as “family” on the basis of a couple of fun weekends. My motives were not clear (not even to me, and that was part of the problem).

My relationship with her son lingered, deepened, and became something lasting. My friendship with my dear friend did, too. Life throws us some curve balls, though, and later on my romantic relationship with her first-born failed, rather abruptly and painfully. My friendship with my dear friend showed considerably more staying power (obviously, or I wouldn’t be writing these words, now). We grew to rely upon each other, to stay in touch through all our changes and ups and downs and challenges and triumphs. It’s been a blast – hilarious and joyful and fond and intellectual and fun and… g’damn it I miss her already. Shit. She was that friend who got the first look at any new art (after my Traveling Partner), the first to read my poetry manuscript (still unpublished), and often the only one to be my confidante when I struggled with my emotional wellness or mental health, or a romantic relationship, outside of therapy. Losing her feels… so lonely.

…This morning I sip my coffee and I miss my dear friend. I had sat down at my desk first thing with an amusing thought stuck in my head, after my commute to the office. I opened my email and started to share it with her… then remembered. A few stray tears spilled over, and I feel them wet on my cheeks, even now. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. Fucking hell. So human. Death leaves us behind, standing on the precipice of a new beginning…

I don’t know what comes next, or what may someday “fill this space” in my heart where my dear friend’s laughter lived. I just know I’ve got to begin again…

…Some moments later, I sit back astonished to realize my dear friend and I had known each other for 29 years. Wow. More than 48% of my entire life was experienced in the context of this long association and continued dialogue. It’s no wonder I’m missing her, eh? This bit of perspective provides me an unexpected measure of comfort; it only makes sense that this hurts so much – we shared so much. I finish my coffee, and look out into the gray morning sky, thinking my thoughts…

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, inspiration, loneliness, Love, meditation, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, women

Small Things

July 1, 2019 //
0

It was a weekend of long walks in the sunshine, of fresh ripe blackberries, of farmer’s markets, and of grilling. It was a lovely, easy, relaxed summer weekend. Enough. More than enough. I let the recollection put a smile on my face this morning, as I sip my coffee, and prepare for a new day, a new week, and a new beginning. 🙂

All of the richness and warmth of the weekend, though, wouldn’t be “enough”, if I were to refuse to allow it to be; I could so easily choose to demand more from my experience and find myself mired in discontent and dissatisfaction. (I know this for certain, because I was once that person.) This morning the choice is to enjoy each of the small things I do enjoy, and to savor those experiences. I let them fill me up and become substantial in my recollection, and, over time, they become quite prominent in my implicit memory, and useful towards building emotional resilience.

…So practical. 😀

This week will “feel different” in the office, mostly simply to do with changing the office, itself. We’ve moved the work from one location, to another, although not very far. The two locations have a very different “vibe”, and quite a different arrangement of space. I’m eager to observe how these differences change other behavior than my own. It’s a work thing. lol Still, I’m eager to get going with it, and find myself considering leaving for work early, although few people will be on site, or working, as early as I generally get in. It’s the momentum that I’m after. I feel eager.

…Oh hey, “eagerness” is returning. I smile, feeling welcoming, and positively-inclined toward the experience of feeling eager. 🙂 It’s not much to hold onto, but any little foothold that helps me on my way up and out of last week’s pit of raw grief and existential disappointment is worth enjoying. 🙂 Grieving is such a personal thing. It will be a long while before I’m anything like truly being “over” my mother’s death – but, fortunately for my mental health and quality of life, feels like I am very nearly “over it enough” to see the color and joy begin to return to the day-to-day. 🙂

I take a moment for pictures of flowers from the weekend, before I begin again. 🙂

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories anhedonia, forgiveness, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being

Getting Fresh Perspective

June 30, 2019 //
1

I’m sipping my room temperature coffee (lost a crown, haven’t yet had that repaired), and considering the path I am on, and where it has taken me. I’m thinking about my mother’s death. I’m slowly waking up to a new morning, and a new perspective.

Every ending, also a beginning; the sun shines even on our dark moments.

I went to the farmer’s market yesterday. The blueberries and blackberries are just in, and the strawberries have not yet disappeared. At the grocery store, exceptional tree-ripe apricots up from Dinuba were in. They are delicious this morning, with my coffee. Needing more novelty – and admittedly, also more exercise – I selected a nearby trail I “hadn’t gotten to, yet” – and got to it.

The sunshine was bright and illuminating.

It was only two miles, and spent mostly in my head. The sunshine was warm on my skin.

There were beautiful eye-catching flowers I’ve never noticed before.

The breeze was soft, and heavily scented with flowers.

Sweetpeas bloomed all along the trail, at the edges of the blackberry thicket.

I let my feet carry me forward, enjoying sunshine and movement. Thinking about Mom’s passing, without being fully aware that her service was going on, at that time, but still very much grieving the loss in a personal way. No guilt over not traveling for the service; she’d have understood. I know this, because we had discussed it.

Thimbleberries!

I spot a thicket of ripening thimbleberries along my path. I help myself to just one; they are too fragile for commercial cultivation, and have minimal fruit. The lovely flavor is unique, and I savor it, present, just being for that long sweet moment. I enjoy just the one berry, leaving the rest for the birds, before walking on.

There are wee bunnies in the underbrush all along my walk. Most of them are too fast for me to capture on film.

I return, eventually, to the car, and to home, and enjoy a quiet relaxed day of this-n-that, generally at leisure.

…No headache.

I sit a moment with that awareness; no headache yesterday. No headache this morning. I don’t want to miss this moment. This, too, is worth presence, worth savoring long enough to form a clear recollection, for later.

I enjoyed the walk yesterday more than the walk itself probably rates. I definitely need to be doing more of that. I sip my coffee and consider the morning ahead… I can definitely get a walk in, this morning, too. Maybe no pictures? A walking meditation, perhaps. Along the river? I don’t go up that way often; the wind in my ears, the sparseness of the vegetation, the bare expanse of berm along the path; it’s not much to see besides the long broad ribbon of muddy water, but this morning even that sounds enticing.

I finish my coffee, and start figuring myself out for the day. I find myself recalling bow practice, yesterday, with the crossbow my Traveling Partner got me as a late birthday present. I’ve no idea, really, what inspired him to go that direction – and it was a master-stroke of loving inspiration, as it turns out. We enjoyed the sunshine together for a few moments of target practice, before determining that, ideally, we’d need more room than we have behind the house. I promise myself to keep an eye out for suitable locations as I travel here and there. Still grinning, I settle on a pair of jeans, quietly (randomly) retrieved from the closet, as my partner sleeps. This day won’t live itself!

It’s time to begin… again. 🙂

 

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anhedonia, forgiveness, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being