tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66409808702405261162024-03-19T22:28:03.907+13:00GriefprintIn words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold: But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more." TennysonUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-49895951551274654402016-07-13T22:26:00.001+12:002016-08-26T14:47:27.062+12:00Remedy I take a pill<br />
to lift my spirits during the day<br />
but at night<br />
they raise spirits in my dreams<br />
that leave me exhausted by morning<br />
and add to the conveyor belt of dreams<br />
of you dying and living and dying again.<br />
"Your brain needs time to heal," she said.<br />
I lie in a bath<br />
waiting for the salt to sink in between my bones<br />
but it can't seem to find its healing way in<br />
to the pain in my heart<br />
that lies wounded in its own salty sting.<br />
I wrap my arms<br />
around a little sleeping body<br />
to try and fill the aching space in front of me<br />
but it doesn't stop them from reaching invisibly<br />
for you every morning.<br />
I swallow potions<br />
because the labels say<br />
they will stop me from fighting and flying<br />
now that there's nothing left to fight<br />
but they don't hold enough magic<br />
to lift the lid off the sky<br />
so that I can see your face.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-59908608850239836162016-02-06T22:02:00.001+13:002016-02-06T22:02:12.856+13:00Thirty six at fourI have thirty six hours alone and as I walk along the sand, able to think, I can only think:<br />
<br />
My beloved is gone and I'm losing a friendship and the world appears to be made only of lovers walking hand in hand, and the breaking waves are pure perfection.<br />
<br />
Four years, all that, and today this is all I know. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-45227445780980480042016-02-06T21:57:00.000+13:002016-02-06T21:59:19.159+13:00Motel after midnight I'm stuck in a motel room and this pain inside of me is as big as the city we're staying in, and the one who was keeping me afloat (and more) is no longer interested in being a boat. I silence the sounds of pain and sit and listen instead to my kids' breathing, their limbs sliding out of bed on this hot night, and I try not to think of the words that describe the feelings, and hope that the pain in my belly isn't caused by this city-sized, multi-storied-now grief... and I never was made to leave midnight far behind me.<br />
<br />
<i>(Written mid January, NP)</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-60176954023652524592016-02-06T21:48:00.000+13:002016-02-06T21:53:06.734+13:00It still doesMy arm stretches out across the place where you used to lie<br />
and I can't understand how it can reach across<br />
the entire breadth and being of a man.<br />
You used to be alive<br />
in the space of my one small arm.<br />
You used to hear my hand reaching<br />
out across the sheets in the dark,<br />
and know that it needed yours. <br />
<br />
<i>(Written mid January, NP) </i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-3931898220867429072015-11-15T13:51:00.000+13:002016-02-06T21:45:26.931+13:00The futureHi love.<br />
<br />
It's me.<br />
<br />
I'm in the future.<br />
<br />
The future, this one that terrified me so much it made my head spin out. I'm here and I'm doing it.<br />
<br />
The best news is, I'm surviving. I have survived the last few years. My heart seems to still be beating, and life is bursting around me. There are happy things. Our children, of course. My grief for their loss burns up my insides, but them - they are explosions of fun and laughter and life and delight. As you know. We have a lovely home and there are beautiful trees outside our windows. My friends care so much for me and I know they would do anything they can to make my life easier or happier. They have shed tears for me and that has shared my load. I have an old friend, you know the one, who makes me laugh and laugh, and even sometimes, you'll be pleased to know, snort. There is good conversation in my life too, good ideas, and maybe even some dreams, though I tiptoe around those. After some time, I even started enjoying food again and, can you believe, I had a curry just last night. Mum and Dad have been amazing of course. They will do anything. They do do anything. I need them so much, though I do get a little pissed off with them at times too, and I often think it was not them I chose to marry. It can get a little complicated, having them in my life to such an intense degree. I sometimes remember you telling me and Mum to play nicely.<br />
<br />
It seems the church has forgotten me though. I wasn't expecting that. Most of those who represent the church have never spoken a word about God to me in 4 years. A couple have, and it has been incredibly painful for me, so I don't know what approach I need, but I am certainly surprised at the silence. It's the same silence of God Himself. I always believed He pursued and pursued the lost. But not this one. I think I've been left in the church's too hard basket, or perhaps it seems I have made my choice not to turn up and noone is keen to change my mind. Entering fully in to my story - our story - puts ones faith at risk, I believe, so it's better to just create your own interpretation about it and leave me to one side. I guess there are millions of us, over to one side. <br />
<br />
The pain has been immense Kent. I have a whole blog here where I have tried to put it in to words, so I won't try again now. But perhaps you don't need the words, perhaps you have seen it? I don't know how that works, how you can be in a place where there is all joy and no tears, yet know of the fires that have ripped through my insides these last few years, seen all the bits of me that have been changed forever, all the worst parts of me erupting to the surface, and all the bits that have turned to nothing but cinders and memory. The pain is different now, here in this part of the future. It is no less intense, but it is kind enough to wait below the surface a little. Letting me breath around it. My daily struggles are around doing all the work on my own, managing that undefinable anxiety, still a desperate loneliness at certain times of the day, that can't be filled by anyone who doesn't live in my home, and the complete disappearance of that huge part of me that was a wife, a lover and a best friend. I try to work myself up to being happier, but then it often comes crashing down and I realise my foundation seems to be unhappy. So I'm working on the idea of just having happy moments, never mind the overall feeling, just having some happy things in my day. I like to think about those happy moments increasing, and starting to hold hands with each other, though I admit I then get distracted by the idea of hand holding...<br />
<br />
I told you once, when you were worried about me, that I would be happy again. I have regretted it many times. What was I thinking? I've wanted you to know that was such a load of bullshit. But I'll keep trying, because I know that's what you want. I've tried to be my best defender against myself too, as you are not here to do it for me. I've done it on your behalf. That's got a bit wobbly, as I have thought of the likelihood that I will be alone for the rest of my life, and the reasons why, but I keep trying to hear your voice. There's one thing I haven't been able to manage. Do you remember many, many years ago, before we knew of this future, you told me I was to never cry alone? I was always to come and find you? You're nowhere to be found now sweetheart and I have done nothing but cry alone.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Paris was attacked this week. Gunmen opening fire. Not randomly, specifically. There is so much searing pain in that city right now. I feel it so much for them. I wonder how people can feel in just a few moments all that I felt as I watched you die in slow motion. I guess that's what shock is for - they say that without it, we, the observers, would die too. And oh, what they have ahead of them! There may be pain now, but what pain there is to come! It has been hard not to put us in Paris. Perhaps because we have been there. I imagine us getting up from our cafe table and running, or I see you being one of the ones not able to get up and run. I long for us to have been able to get up and run from that which was after you. I remember the joy of riding our bikes through Paris, and the desolation of having them stolen. I remember me doing all the talking (of course) on our long walk back to the camp site that evening, making plans for how we would live when we returned home. I remember, I always remember, you lying in bed that night quietly, thinking about your bike. "I just can't believe it's gone," you said. Can you feel that feeling again, a million-fold? That's a bit what it's like baby. Even now. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-48673469529553458412015-09-19T22:25:00.001+12:002016-02-06T21:48:26.599+13:00Tonight and yesterday<div data-contents="true" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0">
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="2tvub-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$2tvub">
<span data-offset-key="2tvub-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$2tvub.0:$2tvub-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$2tvub.0:$2tvub-0-0.0">Tonight we will eat and drink </span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="dlb9o-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$dlb9o">
<span data-offset-key="dlb9o-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$dlb9o.0:$dlb9o-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$dlb9o.0:$dlb9o-0-0.0">to remember and honour,</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="d8tle-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$d8tle">
<span data-offset-key="d8tle-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$d8tle.0:$d8tle-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$d8tle.0:$d8tle-0-0.0">kissing each other on the cheek,</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="d10kf-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$d10kf">
<span data-offset-key="d10kf-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$d10kf.0:$d10kf-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$d10kf.0:$d10kf-0-0.0">checking in my eyes</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="33vif-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$33vif">
<span data-offset-key="33vif-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$33vif.0:$33vif-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$33vif.0:$33vif-0-0.0">to see if I'm OK.</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="fsmia-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fsmia">
<span data-offset-key="fsmia-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fsmia.0:$fsmia-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fsmia.0:$fsmia-0-0.0">We'll make good conversation</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="4f6p7-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$4f6p7">
<span data-offset-key="4f6p7-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$4f6p7.0:$4f6p7-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$4f6p7.0:$4f6p7-0-0.0">and admire the children,</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="2g8g6-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$2g8g6">
<span data-offset-key="2g8g6-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$2g8g6.0:$2g8g6-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$2g8g6.0:$2g8g6-0-0.0">and catch glimpses of another face in theirs</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="dggs4-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$dggs4">
<span data-offset-key="dggs4-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$dggs4.0:$dggs4-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$dggs4.0:$dggs4-0-0.0">and wish, wish that there was</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5001p-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$5001p">
<span data-offset-key="5001p-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$5001p.0:$5001p-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$5001p.0:$5001p-0-0.0">another chair full.</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="e0kpv-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$e0kpv">
<span data-offset-key="e0kpv-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$e0kpv.0:$e0kpv-0-0"><br data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$e0kpv.0:$e0kpv-0-0.0" /></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="4jo32-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$4jo32">
<span data-offset-key="4jo32-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$4jo32.0:$4jo32-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$4jo32.0:$4jo32-0-0.0">How different to the other kind</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="9g396-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$9g396">
<span data-offset-key="9g396-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$9g396.0:$9g396-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$9g396.0:$9g396-0-0.0">of remembering, just yesterday,</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="2v80n-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$2v80n">
<span data-offset-key="2v80n-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$2v80n.0:$2v80n-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$2v80n.0:$2v80n-0-0.0">stretched out flat</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="bpsar-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$bpsar">
<span data-offset-key="bpsar-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$bpsar.0:$bpsar-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$bpsar.0:$bpsar-0-0.0">on a rectangle piece of grass</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="6jpop-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$6jpop">
<span data-offset-key="6jpop-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$6jpop.0:$6jpop-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$6jpop.0:$6jpop-0-0.0">dropping tears down to bones,</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="6t7e6-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$6t7e6">
<span data-offset-key="6t7e6-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$6t7e6.0:$6t7e6-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$6t7e6.0:$6t7e6-0-0.0">cracking the blue sky</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5kj5v-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$5kj5v">
<span data-offset-key="5kj5v-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$5kj5v.0:$5kj5v-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$5kj5v.0:$5kj5v-0-0.0">with the sound of a pain</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="fkpue-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fkpue">
<span data-offset-key="fkpue-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fkpue.0:$fkpue-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fkpue.0:$fkpue-0-0.0">that time doesn't take,</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="1qr7n-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$1qr7n">
<span data-offset-key="1qr7n-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$1qr7n.0:$1qr7n-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$1qr7n.0:$1qr7n-0-0.0">and asking him to make sure</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="8d4r0-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$8d4r0">
<span data-offset-key="8d4r0-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$8d4r0.0:$8d4r0-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$8d4r0.0:$8d4r0-0-0.0">that he's the first one there to meet me</span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5lj8v-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$5lj8v">
<span data-offset-key="5lj8v-0-0" data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$5lj8v.0:$5lj8v-0-0"><span data-reactid=".bn.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$5lj8v.0:$5lj8v-0-0.0">when I arrive.</span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-79438609138555665572015-08-19T21:42:00.003+12:002015-08-19T21:42:35.598+12:00Thank you, my dear friends...<div class="quote">
'<i>If you're brave enough to live it, the least I can do is listen.</i>'</div>
<br />
- Cynthia Bond,Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-23498664740943345032015-07-27T14:36:00.000+12:002015-07-27T14:36:01.846+12:00If I hadn't seen such riches"Now I'm relieved to hear<br />
That you've been to some far out places<br />
It's hard to carry on<br />
When you feel all alone<br />
Now I've swung back down again<br />
It's worse than it was before<br />
If I hadn't seen such riches<br />
I could live with being poor<br />
Oh sit down<br />
Sit down next to me<br />
Sit down, down, down, down, down<br />
In sympathy"<br />
<br />
Stone and Harris <br />
<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<br /><a href="http://www.metrolyrics.com/sit-down-lyrics-james.html#ixzz3h3UmLEab" style="color: #003399;"></a> </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-77824399186066312062015-03-30T20:35:00.000+13:002015-03-30T20:35:33.587+13:00The crying<i>I said once that the crying is not for writing about. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But it is part of the story, of course. Now that this event is behind me, I feel comfortable sharing this piece, and I feel that the whole story must be told. Written in my journal in January 2013. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>This is the core of my grief. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
I'm lying on the floor on my side, my knees pulled up to my chest and my glasses on the carpet beside me. Tears and sobs flood my body, and the room is filled with the sound of pain. For a long time the world around me disappears. I sit up, and for the first time in a year of crying, nearly vomit. <br />
<br />
I need company. Real company with breath and skin. I sit beside her cot, lean my head on the rails and reach through to feel her little body rising and falling. She stirs, and relief comes as her arm stretches out towards me. I reach down and hold her hand. No, actually - she holds mine. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-13170531597488994942015-02-09T12:34:00.002+13:002015-02-09T12:34:50.557+13:00Sweet reliefI thought I'd be alright you know. I'm only on a half dose, and while it seems to have made a difference, surely coming off them for a while to see how it goes wouldn't be too big a deal. When I went on them I was selling my home and hadn't found a new one, and I was pretty down about that, along with everything else. Now we have a very happy home and I am finding a little more in my life.<br />
<br />
But just three drug-free days found me wretched and sobbing on the floor, the little guy crying nearby, the little girl crouching down quietly next to me, stroking and stroking my arm, retrieving my abandoned glasses unbidden, and putting them silently within my reach. Making me better.<br />
<br />
I may not have found my sanity in that unbearable few days, but I did find, once again, a most extraordinary heart. A sweet little mouse with a lion's heart, bursting with love, concern, tenderness. Sometimes, knowing that she is here with me, and will be here with me, is such relief. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-29746944754089734442015-01-17T21:51:00.000+13:002015-01-17T22:12:45.255+13:0017 January, again. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I went to the cemetery on my own today, which is how I wanted it. It was hard, hard, hard, and again I am amazed at what a powerful place it is, and what can happen there that can be kept tucked away in other places. </div>
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These days the pain has stayed tucked away a lot - something I have been thinking about and may write about some more. But as so often happens, the longer you go without letting it out, the bigger the hurt when it comes. It seems I am not the only one to know this. </div>
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There were no photos there today, but we did take a few when we visited on Christmas Eve. </div>
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It's always hard to know what to do on these days. It seems that when I don't know what to do, I bake, and so, as has happened before, we made a cake for Daddy. We're working on commemoration vs celebration - cakes are a little confusing I admit, and today I was asked, 'will we be singing Happy Birthday?" We didn't do that, but we did sing, and light candles, and held on tight. I have loved those kids even more today. </div>
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The little guy spent much of the day doing jobs-around-the house with Grandad while the girls spent some of it baking a cake together. It seems that those of us who are alive, the best way to survive is to get on and do the things you love. We'll have to keep trying that.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This girl has a cake instead of a father. Good grief. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowers from a friend whose heartache kept mine company today.</td></tr>
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These have been my songs, and words (excerpts), for today. Turned up really loud they are hard to drive to, but they speak the pain. Click on the titles to listen. </div>
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All by Brooke Fraser.</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuWLus6Ga_w" target="_blank">Flags</a></div>
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Reality has left you reeling</div>
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All facts and no feeling</div>
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No faith and all fear</div>
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I don't know why a good man will fall </div>
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While a wicked one stands</div>
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I don't know why the innocents fall</div>
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While the monsters still stand</div>
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You who mourn will be comforted </div>
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You who hunger will hunger no more</div>
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All the last shall be first</div>
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Of this I am sure</div>
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You who weep now will laugh again</div>
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All you lonely be lonely no more</div>
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Yes the last shall be first</div>
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Of this I am sure</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saf5u2NUhEA" target="_blank">Orphans, Kingdoms </a></div>
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Eat and drink for tomorrow we die,</div>
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We will look our Maker in the eye.</div>
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Raise a flagon and drink to your health,</div>
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Who is He that can conquer Himself?</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhesn3aqFp8" target="_blank">Ice on her Lashes</a></div>
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I will think of you each time I see the sun</div>
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I didn't want a day without</div>
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but somehow I've lived through another one</div>
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I will think of you each time I see the sun</div>
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I didn't want a year without you</div>
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but somehow I've lived through another one</div>
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Did you find it hard to breathe at first?</div>
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Were you wounded and in disbelief at how much it hurt? </div>
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Now the ache's still burning</div>
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but the world's still turning, isn't it?</div>
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I will think of you each time I see the sun</div>
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I didn't want a life without you</div>
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but here I am living one</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglinr1OSWwd2FRzQBs4c6PL7VIDiyHjjF046vAWzpONtduMVuFr0QQBqL2TFJaFvW4SMD_EMqLIv_fXZkF_X242Iuaxqb33C7yHI_lGUPuMMz92AtM36iCj-k1vTj-QPctF1Q_mqqsBds/s1600/widow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglinr1OSWwd2FRzQBs4c6PL7VIDiyHjjF046vAWzpONtduMVuFr0QQBqL2TFJaFvW4SMD_EMqLIv_fXZkF_X242Iuaxqb33C7yHI_lGUPuMMz92AtM36iCj-k1vTj-QPctF1Q_mqqsBds/s1600/widow.jpg" height="256" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young widow grieves for her fallen husband, Albuquerque, NM</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-74957305717539455942014-12-30T22:02:00.003+13:002014-12-30T22:02:23.224+13:00Our babies, up the path from Woodward StreetMe: "Look at them, just look at them!"<br />
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"I look at them every day."<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-78459709101677647032014-11-21T12:02:00.002+13:002014-11-21T12:02:55.425+13:00Just a momentI had one of those <a href="http://www.griefprint.blogspot.co.nz/2014/09/my-movie.html" target="_blank">movie-moments</a> the other day.<br />
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The little one was playing in the lounge and came running in to see me, saying, I thought, "I'm getting married." She arrived, and I said, "Pardon? Can you say that again?" <i>How does she know about white dresses and getting married?</i><br />
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"I'm getting married," she said.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7G5dNAb9JxB8KRqPX7rsveEQOFUO-3t90y5GTI3B2yhnY4NeUH-XPdyJN00M4v7wGrpzy91AMOvvHYT-ARwNskZOv5vH94dbzQXOwrk0f_F84ia6GioibDGyVDQ9srLpJHJv8yuLhok/s1600/IMG_5237-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7G5dNAb9JxB8KRqPX7rsveEQOFUO-3t90y5GTI3B2yhnY4NeUH-XPdyJN00M4v7wGrpzy91AMOvvHYT-ARwNskZOv5vH94dbzQXOwrk0f_F84ia6GioibDGyVDQ9srLpJHJv8yuLhok/s1600/IMG_5237-001.JPG" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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The stereo was on in the kitchen, and while I picked up the camera to take a photo of our sweet, sweet girl, Emmylou sang,<i> "see what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world."</i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-33183915407412927872014-11-17T14:34:00.001+13:002015-03-30T20:42:33.312+13:00Just breathI've been dealing with some immense pain lately. The kind that comes in waves, and is sometimes crippling. Other times it sits quietly lurking in the background, reminding you it will be back. It is especially bad in the dark, and I arrive in my bedroom at night with that uneasy feeling of knowing what I have ahead of me, and what will mess with my sleep. In the mornings it makes me snap at my children and falter through my day.<br />
<br />
But no! I'm not talking about grief! For better or worse, this time I <i>am</i> talking about physical pain. I have Thoracic Outlet Syndrome - a nerve/blood vessel compression problem that stems from the neck, and creates pain through the shoulders and arms. For me (and most) the pain comes on at night due to the position of lying down, combined with the lack of movement.<br />
<br />
I've had minor versions of this in the past, sometimes bad enough to visit an osteopath for a while (with no diagnosis before now) and sometimes it can be controlled with a massage or two. But this time it's hit me harder than I knew was possible. For many, many mornings I have woken with a pain in my shoulder so intense that I can't move it or touch it for about an hour, sometimes in the night as well, and a couple of times have nearly thrown up because of the pain. I have been stunned that it is possible to experience such pain, especially without having been in any kind of accident, and the morning before I first visited my chiropractor I was ready to check myself in to hospital. I've become a little scared of what my body can do to me. I have tried (no, not all together) regular panadol, voltaren, codeine, herbal anti-inflammatories, low dosage anti-depressants (often used in pain relief to help dampen down hyper-sensitive nerve endings), magnesium (to relax the muscles), epsom salts (another version of magnesium), acupuncture, chiropractic work, osteopathy, wheat packs, and a bucket load of hot showers. The pain killers haven't touched the sides; I have stopped taking them, though I continue to take voltaren in the hope that it is doing its anti-inflammatory work, and I'm currently waiting the two-three weeks for the anti-d's to kick in. <br />
<br />
Thoracic Outlet Syndrome is normally caused by accident/injury or repetitive strain injury, and sometimes by abnormalities/enlargements or spasms. However I, and all the people working with me, believe it has been caused by bad breathing. Yes - breathing! <br />
<br />
To breathe properly you need to breathe through your nose (not mouth) and deep into your stomach, not your chest. Getting it wrong can lead to a remarkable amount of distress, and stress on the body. Have a look at the <a href="http://www.breathingworks.com/" target="_blank">Breathing Works website</a> if you are interested. I read a book called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Breathe-Succeed-Aspects-Your-Life/dp/014028074X" target="_blank">Breathe to Succeed</a> many years ago, and met with the author, physiotherapist <a href="http://www.breathingworks.com/about-us/" target="_blank">Tania Clifton-Smith</a>, a number of times in the years following. I have been a chronic over-breather, and have had to learn to breath well, especially in times of stress. Just prior to my current shoulder pain coming on, I experienced a few days of chronic over-breathing which leads to an appalling breathing technique, where I suck air in to my upper chest area and feel the strain in my shoulders and neck. It becomes a vicious cycle and it's hard to get out.<br />
<br />
So yes. I think I am talking about grief after all. I have long been fascinated by the impact of mental health on physical health, and don't believe it should be underestimated. Over the past few years I have almost expected grief and strain to have an impact on my physical wellbeing, particularly my breathing, and have been pleased to have made it through so far. When my shoulder pain came on I had been in a good space, mentally, and almost felt as though grief, rather annoyingly, was just finding another outlet. Will it never leave me alone?<br />
<br />
This kind of pain strikes me as another part of the grief journey, and I'm trying to just ride with it and know I will get to the other end. I am working now with an outstanding osteopath and acupuncturist who has been good to me over many years. When he told me that in eastern medicine, lungs are the organ of grief, well, it took my breath away. He and I are making progress, I think I have the right mix of medication, and I'm practicing my breathing. These days still find me regularly lying on the floor looking at the ceiling, but instead of being accompanied by tears, I'm accompanied by nice steady breathing. Sometimes all you have to do is just breath.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwx9ho5oNqejalcSJD7AJJFLXbs1ubDsXM6gu5KTKQGrwnuSi_BD0s6-S2ZgUir0YSPpySLhqj_YHjrCuUIaToK1ekxTFmFYFUSqBgWx0gg7SRwQgYHpCy8PAOWkBHQjgH3UrybQyNZ0/s1600/lungs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwx9ho5oNqejalcSJD7AJJFLXbs1ubDsXM6gu5KTKQGrwnuSi_BD0s6-S2ZgUir0YSPpySLhqj_YHjrCuUIaToK1ekxTFmFYFUSqBgWx0gg7SRwQgYHpCy8PAOWkBHQjgH3UrybQyNZ0/s1600/lungs.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breathe! By Marcelo Jimenez</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-28888530348306355942014-11-10T14:01:00.000+13:002015-11-05T09:43:51.051+13:00But not alone<i>(I missed the bit about going camping. And the cliche about watching the stars. But a girl had better not ask for too much.)</i><br />
<br />
I want to sit outside in the evening,<br />
smell the garden at dusk<br />
and watch the sky change colour.<br />
<br />
I want to drive long, dark roads,<br />
fish and chips passed to the driver<br />
and kids snuggled in the back.<br />
<br />
I want to catch a movie and dinner,<br />
go to the ballet, check out some gig<br />
and walk the night time streets<br />
in my good clothes.<br />
<br />
I want to fall in to bed<br />
with perfume staining my pillow<br />
and feel the feeling<br />
of skin between sheets.<br />
<br />
And I want to soak long in the sea,<br />
and feel it heal me.<br />
<br />
I want to sit on the sofa,<br />
and watch some great TV.<br />
<br />
I want to see the fiords, and Fiji,<br />
and anywhere that's new for me.<br />
<br />
I'd like to ride through streets again,<br />
know that I can be strong,<br />
and remember what it feels like to fly.<br />
<br />
I'd like to make a grown ups' meal, <br />
just once in a while<br />
and leave the dishes until morning. <br />
<br />
I'd like to have late night conversation,<br />
fill the silence with talking<br />
and laugh out loud in bed.<br />
<br />
I'd like to play this game again,<br />
instead of watching,<br />
and after so much losing, win.<br />
<br />
I want to soak long in the sea,<br />
and feel it heal me.<br />
<br />
I want to sit on the sofa,<br />
and watch some great TV.<br />
<br />
I want to see the fiords, and Fiji,<br />
and anywhere that's new for me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-31117393063271009792014-11-02T15:02:00.003+13:002014-11-02T21:22:30.335+13:00IcecreamI bought them icecreams today<br />
and tried not to count the teaspoons.<br />
I saw that wry look of yours on his face<br />
when he asked her for another lick, <br />
and she said no.<br />
Memories of childhood icecreams at the beach<br />
blurred with the memory of those icecreams at the beach<br />
that you asked for, while I worried like crazy<br />
about how bad it was for you,<br />
as though a giant icecream could tip the already tipping balance<br />
between life and death.<br />
My eyes blurred and I saw your freckles<br />
on his knuckles,<br />
and I saw you sitting down with us,<br />
wiping the pink gently from her face,<br />
and I wondered,<br />
why on earth are you not here? Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-110907067398171072014-10-15T22:40:00.002+13:002014-10-15T22:40:37.618+13:00Me tooI remember that girl<br />
She really knew how to love<br />
in that kind of way.<br />
<br />
I miss that girl<br />
I wonder where she has gone<br />
and how so much of a person<br />
could just disappear like that. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-89176233921320043482014-09-10T21:12:00.000+12:002014-09-11T21:03:01.993+12:00My movieWe went to Kindy Gym yesterday morning, as we always do on a Tuesday, and the little one decided she needed some sustenance before she got started. So I found myself sitting out in the rec centre corridor while she nibbled away on her early morning tea and I gazed off in to the distance. <br />
<br />
In the distance was a group of elderly people doing some exercises. Pumping their arms in to the air, sitting on chairs and lifting their feet. They looked, well, old. Tired, worn out, but grabbing at life. I struggle very much now with the way our lives so often seem to end. With a loss of function, with exhaustion, with a loss of dignity. Amazing, competent, full, complete lives that can fade in such harsh ways. I seem to be hyper-aware of the cycle of life - and the speed with which it goes. As I watched these elderly people in one room, I could feel the lives in the room just behind me. Fresh and new little bodies, just beginning to explore all the magnificent things they are capable of. And across the loud speaker came the music, "to everything turn turn turn, there is a season turn turn turn, and a time to every purpose under Heaven. A time to be born, a time to die..." The song finished and I tried to break out of the place I had landed in, but the next song followed. The song that I was singing to my children at the moment Kent died, "how wonderful life is, while you're in the world." I plummeted back in to my thoughts until our girl was ready to take me back in to Kindy Gym, and give me a hug. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I can't tell you how any moments I have had like this over the last couple of years. In fact I wish I had told you, I wish I had recorded them, though often they have been too intangible and acutely beautiful to know how to record. I often feel like I am living in a movie. Not just because of the big story, but all the little stories that happen along the way. <i>Wow, you couldn't have *written* it better than this. </i>Not better in a good way, this is not generally a good story, but the moments, the coincidences, the coming together of things. It has been extraordinary. I really seem to be living in a movie. I think what's supposed to happen next is that I open a chocolate shop and a handsome man arrives and falls wildly in love with me. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm not too sure about that, but the credits aren't rolling on this extraordinary life of mine. Ordinary seems to have gone forever. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-70153320975721970742014-05-24T22:09:00.001+12:002014-07-06T09:17:42.169+12:00Prescription ladders<div style="text-align: center;">
-I wrote this late last year, soon after I wrote "Grief and the Black Dog,"<br />
and soon after that I got myself a ladder-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I seem to be lost</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Somewhere inside of me</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Grasping and clawing</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Under a heavy black blanket</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Send down a ladder</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So I can find me again.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-46547535879859041182014-05-24T22:07:00.000+12:002014-05-24T22:12:16.917+12:00I saw his faceI saw his face in my dreams last night. As so often I do, but this time, unusually, it was healthy. Perhaps it was only a dream, I have had so many powerful ones that have become nothing but broken. <br />
<br />
It was beautiful, of course. Crystal clear, his features sharp and face glowing, more than I have ever seen in this life. "I love you so much," he said, with his smile. Thank you love, I know you do, I know.<br />
<br />
Please come and tell the kids one day (night) too.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-9588406080091421562014-03-21T21:25:00.000+13:002014-06-20T20:13:18.142+12:00Listening<div style="text-align: center;">
- Not my best writing perhaps, but words I need to get down - </div>
<br />
<br />
I grabbed a couple of CDs from my Mum's collection before the half hour car journey the other day, and hoped I had the right ones. It's good to try and choose something that I will enjoy, that won't envelop me in a dark and heavy blanket of memory and sadness. In the car I chose to play The Shot Band, they sounded kind of loud and fun. The first song was exactly that, but I prepared myself for the second one, I had seen on the cover that it was titled "The most beautiful widow in town." The melancholy of the first few notes jaded me, after the fun of the first song, and I thought "is this what has to be mine? Is this the music that is for me? Is there only this sadness now?" The fun of the first song was just pretending for a while, the second was reality returning.<br />
<br />
It's hard to say really. I need words, and music, that describe pain, but I guess I don't need them all the time. And music is particularly hard. Perhaps because so much of my listening is done when I'm driving. But whatever the time of day, I have to be prepared for a journey (of the emotional kind) whenever I listen, and if I am choosing the music it can really take some choosing.<br />
<br />
Looking at my mother's collection I could choose some old Jewel, there are few connections with Kent there. But what about that song that is so full of hope about life, <i>fill your lives with love and bravery, and we shall lead a life uncommon</i>, when life is skidding out of control? How do I join in the hope? Or there is that wonderful Mark Cohn album that Mum and I used to listen to, often in the car too, but I'd be preparing the whole time to skip the last song, <i>when the years have done irreperable arm, I can see us slowly walking arm in arm, just like that couple on the corner do, cause girl I will always be in love with you... Then when I leave this earth, I'll be with the angels standing, I'll be out there waiting for my true companion.</i><br />
<br />
Today I chose Sarah McLachlan, <i>I have the sense to recognise that I don't know how to let you go </i>grabbed me, and I succumbed to the searing beauty of Angel, <i>spend all your time waiting for that second chance, for a break that would make it ok.. It's hard at the end of the day, I need some distraction, or beautiful release</i>,<i> memories seep from my veins, let me be empty and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight</i>..<i> oh this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees. </i>But actually, it's OK, it gives the silent and rock hard burn inside of me voice and beautiful sound, and I like that. And I'm good at driving now with tears streaming.<br />
<br />
After a year of silence it was David Gray's White Ladder that I went back to first, it was probably the last thing I had listened to a lot during Kent's illness, and it was the first thing I returned to. The beauty and sadness in it worked for me, and I played it in the car over and over. I have always had to skip <i>what we gonna do when the money runs out, wish that there was something left to say, how we gonna find the eyes to see a brighter day</i>, because it reminds me of a life running out, and the desolation of it is too much. <i>So alive with wild hope</i> takes me back to a good life long ago, <i>I got half a mind to scream out loud I got half a mind to die</i> - I listen to the first bit and try not to hear the second. And I love that someone out there has said so beautifully <i>it takes a lotta love my friend to keep your heart from freezing, to push on to the end</i>.<br />
<br />
There is so much music that Kent introduced me to that I can't quite work out how to approach yet. I don't want to miss out on The Arcade Fire but I'm not quite ready to be landed in the middle of our happiest married days - good as that may sound. There's Coldplay that drops me straight back in to London and I am missing them too, but<i> tears stream down your face when you lose something you can not replace.. lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you</i> can only be listened to in the dark and when you are fully prepared. Cat Power I would like to listen to again one day too, but they were a very recent discovery, and that seems to remind me that all good music that is to come won't be heard by Kent, and, less of a tragedy but disappointing nonetheless, without him to find it and bring it to me, I am less likely to hear it too.<br />
<br />
I did discover The Lumineers without him, and I have found room for them without too many tears, though I wonder often about <i>it's better to feel pain than nothing at all</i>, and always notice<i> when we were young we did enough</i> (no we didn't, we didn't have enough time!) and<i> when we were cold we bundled up</i> (we did!). I also hear <i>I'm standing on your porch screaming out</i>, and <i>I don't blame you dear, running like you did all these years</i>, and most of all, most of all, Kent's voice, and the name he used for me, <i>keep your head up my love</i>, which, along with David Gray's <i>The One I Love, </i>led to me writing <a href="http://griefprint.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/from-here-to-here.html" target="_blank">From Here to Here</a>. <i>Ho Hey</i> and <i>I belong with you, you belong with me, my sweetheart</i> - those words make me struggle but the fantastic happiness and life of the song fill me with a fizzing excitement and I am pulled in all directions.<br />
<br />
We can't talk of music and Kent without Dave Matthews of course, and it is something I have struggled to bring myself to listen to. For a myriad reasons - both lyrics and associations. They're words too hard or too precious to even write here to be honest, they're words that describe our earliest days together, words that we walked together back up the aisle to, words engraved on the inside of my wedding ring. Though I have spent some time with <i>Grey Street</i> and love the truth and experience of the words. <br />
<br />
And it is the most beautiful combination of Dave and the gorgeous Emmylou that tore at my heart and my eyes when I braved them just yesterday:<br />
<i>I can still hear him he calls to me only, what once was begotten shall come to no end,</i><br />
<i>But the road is so long and the nights are so lonely,</i><br />
<i>My soul just to hold him in this world again. </i><br />
<i>You are my sorrow, you are my splendour,</i><br />
<i>You are my shelter through storm and through strife</i><br />
<i>You are the one I will always remember, all of the days of my life.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>- My soul just to hold him in this world again -</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-68169813119441643822014-03-01T17:48:00.002+13:002014-03-01T17:48:50.589+13:00I always<br />
wanted<br />
to change<br />
the world,<br />
but the world<br />
changed me.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-45386320970266048392014-02-05T21:02:00.000+13:002014-02-05T21:02:33.396+13:00The second anniversaryOn the 17th of January a group of family and friends took time to mark the second anniversary of Kent's death.<br />
<br />
It was a strange day. I don't like the idea that how I am feeling should be dictated by the calendar. I think I do find the lead up to difficult dates particularly hard. I tend to feel sort of hamstrung and unable to do things. It's a relief when it's over. And on the morning of the 17th my mind did turn with great clarity to some pretty difficult memories. But I was treated with such lovely tender care by those around me and it was nice to have that acknowledgement. There are other days of such fragility that are nothing on the calendar, but noone knows when they are, and the special care on special days can be remembered in the in-betweens. And I wouldn't really want to be treated like an eggshell <i>every</i> day.<br />
<br />
It was hard to know how to mark the day, we couldn't really do an exact repeat of last year. But we had to do <i>something</i>. I bought some flowers and lay them on the grave, and while a friend played guitar we each took a stem and put it in a vase on the headstone. It felt like the right thing to do.<br />
<br />
I was somehow both stunned and numbed at the sight of our children playing with the flowers as they sat upon Kent's grave. It was the most unbelievable and incomprehensible thing. They enjoyed the flowers and the little guy enjoyed making sure everyone had a turn. But when I cried a little behind my sunglasses they both left other various family members and came over to me, popping down on my knee and sitting quietly for a long time while I held on tight. I asked later and learnt that they had both chosen to come on their own, noone had suggested it. They saw me, and came.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
It's hard, really hard, going in to the third year. I've read quite often about the second year. Everyone seems to like to say how noone talks about the second year, and how all the support comes in the first and you feel lonelier in the second. But never have I ever read anything about the third year. It seems to just be lumped in to "the rest of your life," and that's pretty tough. <br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-45495401722073746642014-01-16T22:09:00.000+13:002015-01-17T20:32:08.706+13:0017 January 2013<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhesn3aqFp8" target="_blank">Ice on her Lashes - Brooke Fraser</a><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6640980870240526116.post-58478074365369369162013-11-26T15:54:00.001+13:002013-11-26T15:55:15.461+13:00GoldI wrote this about the little girl last week on <a href="http://soakinguplife.blogspot.co.nz/2013/11/1552.html" target="_blank">my other blog</a>: <br />
<br />
<i>I was crying the other day. In her room, as it happened. She came to
the almost closed door. "Me come in?" She came in and stood beside me.
"Me rub Mummy back. Make Mummy better. Mummy want big Daddy. Rub Mummy
back." She stroked my bare arm. "Me pat Mummy arm." She went and got a
stool so she could climb up on to her change table and stand up and look
at the photos of Daddy, while I watched. "Mummy not crying anymore."</i><br />
<br />
It happened again a couple of days later. She raced in to the room, saw me, paused to take stock, then came over and sat beside me on the sofa. Not only did she rub my back, she also reached up and put back in to place a little piece of my hair that had tucked in to my mouth. She truly cheered me up. Not just because I felt I ought to. That girl is a pot of gold. <i><br /></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1