so very grateful

On Saturday someone asked me how I was doing.  

My answer was "Up and down."

She responded that grief is not linear.

Yes. Exactly. Thank you.

It was as if I had expected every day, every week and every month to become easier. 

Not so.

It doesn't seem to be that way.

A few days ago I "talked" to Brian, saying "hi Bree".

For that moment I saw him as he had been. 

Several years ago. 

When he was well.

I hadn't seen him this way for a long time and my heart was full.

I've been gathering old photographs together to give to my daughter Hilary so she can add them to the piles of genealogy papers I had researched about 40 years ago.

And there were photographs of the gardens Brian and I had created together.

Perhaps 45 years ago.

                                                                garlic

Raised beds that Brian had built from huge wood slabs and piled with sifted soil and manure that I filled with seeds and young plants that I had started in one of our greenhouses.

dried beans

                                                                    one of our flower beds

Within the many folders, I also found photographs of my early art work, shocked by the realization that I had sold many hundreds of paintings, collages and what I called Talisman Blocks.

I'm smiling right now.

I see us as we were then, young and so much in love.

At this moment I am so very grateful.

 a few from long long ago

   

                                                                            

deep circles

I'm starting this post with words to myself.

"I may not publish this entry"

Now, that's promising!

It reminds me of about 40 years ago, when I was just beginning The Artists' Way by Julia Cameron, and was faced with my first day of Morning Papers.

These daily Papers were to be 1/2 hour of unconscious journaling. 

My first line, all those years ago, was "I'm not sure if I'm doing this right."

That memory has stayed with me, with the disapproving critic sitting on my shoulder.

I flick it away and then it sits idle for a day, a week or longer and then somehow this noise-maker has climbed back next to my right ear.

                              (Okay, I'm  assuming I can move forward with this post)

On Wednesday, my friend P gifted me a book by Meghan Riordan Jarvis called CAN ANYONE TELL ME?  Essential Questions About Grief and Loss. 

I've not read more than 30 pages and yet a few things have already made a valuable imprint.

I have seen myself age these last few years and especially this past year as Brian's health diminished. 

                     The deep circles under my eyes have been especially noticeable.

And then, on page 53, the author writes: "Most people have some sense of what it means to under- or overeat during periods of stress." 

I've lost 8 pounds.

And she continues, "Other visible changes in appearance- bags under the eyes, changes in skin and hair, wearing the same clothes...is mostly a temporary grief response."

Oh, but I'm only wearing this same black pullover every day because it's covered with hair from Oliver, my cat, and I don't want to ruin my other sweaters.  

Right?

I see also that my grief has affected my memory and cognitive ability.  

And, that's scary.

This morning I got into my car to get some decaf coffee beans from Cafe Fantastico.  It was raining and I needed the windsheild wipers on.

And, I couldn't figure out how to start them!

Before I could begin crying, in panic, I turned off the ignition and removed the key.

I started all over again,  relying on my body's memory bank.

It worked,  although I am still worried that I may be "losing it".

I've always hated the expression "take one step at a time" but I'm beginning to understand its value.

So really, steps #1, #2 and #3 are to eat healthy,  keep in touch with friends and to continue the fun I'm having creating collages.

 Oh, and to devote a second sweater to Oliver's hair!

                                                                                      (these collages have not yet been glued down)

just this time

Please,  just this time.  

Someone take out my garbage and green bins for me. 

I  know it's the correct day because I heard my neighbour wheel theirs out.                  

It's dark.

And I'm tired and feeling sad.

It feels odd that tears are gathering beneath my eye lids, that preparing for garbage day has sent an arrow into my heart. 

No longer saying "sleep well sweetie" each night and setting a single place at the dining table, hasn't so far brought tears.

It's odd how that works: the one-too-many-things.

It seems like my tears were gathered, just waiting to fall.

Waiting for this moment.

 It's 2:45 pm

51/2 hours until I can go to bed.

What can I do to fill the hours?

I've just eaten the remaining bit of a lemon current scone, so I won't need dinner.  Or, if I do, I have a plate in the fridge with a piece of lasagne left over from a couple of days ago.

Brian, my sweet and dear husband, left this earth one week ago.  His funeral was last Friday. Shiva was Sunday evening.

We married 43 years ago in the "round building", the government building in Duncan that issued drivers licenses and occasionally preformed marriages, needing only one witness.

I learned later that the woman who wrote our information down noted that I was Guwish.  

43 years: more than 1/2 my lifetime.

My heart hurts.

The care-giver role I have worn has lost the cared-for. 

Time and space seem to have no reason to be-  to exist at all.

Our wonderful cat Oliver tells me he wants to eat, so I check the clock. 

I see that it's only three o'clock so I urge him to wait a little.

Whole days haven't been 'seen' by my head.  

I think it's the opioid meds I took for a recent injury, though someone more knowledgeable than I, says it is grief that has erased memory. 

Grief so great that as we sat Shiva, a time to share stories about Brian, I have absolutely no recollection of words that were spoken, or of people who were gathered together.

I'm being told to be kind to myself: suggestions welcomed.

you live forever in the sky, the water and the air I breathe

what are you saving that for?

 "What are you saving that for?"

I'm not sure where that refrain came from in my family, but it sounds familiar.

It seems an expression, a question, that I need to pay attention to.

I've been closing the living room blinds mid-day for as long as I remember, keeping a portion of the carpet from fading because of the sunlight. The back of our couch, with its beautiful pattern, has also been protected.

It was just yesterday, after years of caution, that I asked myself what the hell I was doing!

Would it matter if one bit of the carpet was faded?  

It is way too large for one daughter's home and I don't plan on shipping it to Israel, where my other daughter lives!

And, I'm not planning on selling it.

The refrain  "What are you saving that for?" almost screamed as I thought of the wonderful wines I had bought or the fine wines gifted to me over the years. 

They lie in a cabinet with wine glasses nearby.

My stomach feels a bit queasy, unsure if I have the courage to do this.  I mean, why is this such a big deal?!

What am I saving them for?

And once I'm at it, I'll move the special olive oil that I was given a few years ago from the back corner of a kitchen shelf 

and start using it.

(But maybe not for every day!)

I think also of my neighbour and friend who does special foldings with lovely paper napkins and often gifts some to us.

I save them.

For when? 

Tomorrow, when I open a wonderful bottle of wine, and dress a tomato salad with special olive oil, I will use a beautiful napkin.

I am worth it.

Absolutely!

it's about love

My world right now belongs to Brian, my dear husband of 43 years.

It belongs to him, rather, to both of us, as we walk along a wooded area, through the forest searching for a grassy meadow, a glade.

The changing terrain reflects the map we run our fingers along, to see where we are going.  

But there is no route that is marked, no guidance displayed on my Apple phone.

We know only that he is struggling with his health.

But this isn't just about Brian -- only he can tell his story. 

It's about me, no rather, about both of us together.

It's about our serendipitous meeting in Duncan. 

About his asking me what my "sign" was before committing to "spend time" with me. And my response, asking what "a sign" was, quickly uncovering his love of astrology.

It's about my proposing marriage to him at the immigration office in Nanaimo.

                      after our marriage at the Duncan government building

About creating a huge garden together, with raised beds built by Brian.

in our herb garden with my dad

It's about returning to my art and transforming a carport into a beautiful studio for both of us.

And about having art shows together.

It's about my feeling the wondrous gift of Brian's deep love for me, even when I screw up or lose my temper. 

It's about love.

Period.

Do you get it?

"Do you get it?"          

"Do you get it?

"

"DO YOU GET IT!!!"

Another brain-flash, speeding-heart,

deep-breathing moment.

My friend and printing partner P left a message on my Facebook page yesterday 

commenting on the 3 photographs of magnolia flowers I had posted 

writing:

"Sublime! 

You are a fabulous gardener & photographer as we have all known!"

Breathe in breathe out.

It's embarrassing to read, really.

And the photographs were taken with my Apple 16 phone,

having given away my "real camera", 

which I most often used on the "auto" setting

because I felt unable and unwilling to learn the technical things that my camera could do. 

My response to compliments on my photographs has always been "I have a good eye",

often/usually said in a self-deprecating way.

And yesterday,  at a woman's group meeting, each person was asked what she does for self-care.

I responded "having a massage and working in the garden". 

The coordinator of the group looked at me, asking  "and what about your art?"

Oh yeah, right.

And what about writing my blog?

And what about picking a small bouquet of sweet peas every day to put on our dining room table? 

And giving a cluster of these scented beauties to neighbours and friends?

And finally, when Brian told me yesterday how beautiful our garden looks, I replied: 

 "There aren't very many interesting plants in the garden right now,

but rather just self-seeding poppies and nigella

and while they look great now, the August garden won't be very nice."

Geeez.....

Okay 

enough!

So

Today I get it 

Today I get it!

I mean I get it, period.

And the garden IS beautiful

And I capture its beauty in my photographs