Do global events impact your relationship with grief, if it does? Or is it a new type of global grief we are sharing?
In my sleep, I descend the stairs and you rush past me, telling me to hurry up, people are downstairs and they are waiting for us. I’m confused, my jaw opening and closing like the door you just came through; swinging on its hinge at a loss at your presence.
All the plays and displays of light I see I see in a day.
‘Gently, My Mother’ is a small poem I wrote on a sunny Friday which made me miss my own quite terribly.
So grateful to have been able to breathe easily. Hope this gives you some peace, as well.
Thank you so much to Linda for her vulnerability and candour. This post, I am sure everyone will agree, is simply a stunning depiction of grief. I think gently, and with purpose, Linda depicts her emotions beautifully. It is with a heavy heart that I say this was a wonderful read. Sending a big hug to you Linda.
I lay in the sun, and saw a spider. It was a tiny smudge against the blue. Long, desperate webs trailed from its body like a single stitch that bore witness to the little life hurtling through the sky. Rather than fix him in a physical place, this web stitched the spider into my mind. I often come back to him.
I know it feels like the end dates keep changing, but take a rest, close your eyes, inhale, exhale. Pick yourself up and we can carry on together.
Our quarantine tip for today, is a well worn out activity that I’m sure we’ve all done during quarantine already. Tie Dye! You just need a pack and a white t shirt!
The very first photo is my lovely mum in a blue ballgown, taken on the 14th of September, 2013. I would have been 13. The royal blue of Mum’s dress brightens and flaunts her clear blue eyes. A faint, hesitant smile has only aged 7 years with fondness and love. Her hair is short, and slightly messy. I love it, but I can imagine mum brushing her fingers through it only moments beforehand.