New paintings and regular art updates.
Where did you go?
I have invisible memories of you
I notice at night
It’s as if you are next to me
Silently I listen for you
But only hear the cat, snoring quietly
I do feel watched over
After more than 40 years
Gone in an instant
I would love to have you back
If it would mend my broken heart.
My yard, flowers
Apple tree grows,
Next door? Hedge gone
Cut, hacked, defiled.
The view now, roofs
The birds homes shattered.
Where will the roost tonight,
Open up? Let in the light?
But shade gone, it will be blasted by heat.
The sun not shielded.
A sun trap,
No words can tell my despair?
They left a mess and an old fridge!
Well that’s nice to look at
Not!
Last year I watched the tour de France with my hubby. This year, for the first time in about 20 years I’m watching it on my own. It feels strange, no point in cheering on our favourites, no discussion about how Mark Cavendish will do. Just muttering ‘you would have loved this’ to his memory. I could switch it off, but I don’t want to. Tears will fall. I only got into cycling because of hubby. I miss him so much. He would be out cycling after this, a short ride to keep his legs going. He was over 70 and still enthusiastic. 70 isn’t old, he was young at heart. Disease not age took him from me. 😢😢
I saw a prompt on Esther Chilton’s page “dreams” and decided to write a poem about loss to respond to it. Here it is.
In my dreams you are still here
I grasp your hand to pull you near
To say “goodnight” to you my sweet,
As my heart trips and skips a beat,
To have you here, to hear you speak,
That is the dream I really seek.
I know that you have gone away,
Will never see another day.
I’m in a dream now, holding on
To memories of you though you’ve gone.
“Some books are to be tasted.
Others to be swallowed.
And some few to be chewed and digested.”
Sir Francis Bacon.
A poster my hubby had before he met me over 40 years ago. We put it up in a frame and it really does sum up his life. Where I will read sets of books and I’m interested in biographies and art, sci-fi and science, he was interested in everything. He could skim read but take what he was reading in. He seemed to absorb the words like some sort of computer. He often read a book cover to cover in a day. He was an eccentric, an intelligent man, but not overly intellectual. He was unique and I miss him so much.
An innocent day, a year ago. We were out at a Rode Hall, walking through the bluebell woods. No sign of the troubles ahead.
I wish I could hold the hand I held for 43 years, so firm and strong, walking into sunlight with you. Taking each step carefully along the path. You leading the way, supporting me.
I heard the birds singing and felt a gentle breeze that shook the bluebell heads. Nodding in the dappled shade. All ready for some fairy parade when we were gone.
I drew this later from a photo, I wish I could go back in time.
Crying is cathartic
Tears relieve stress
But do they ever stop?
Many more to come
Will they ever end
When will they be done?
Quiet nights are worst
But even in the day
Tears will still fall
Thinking, all alone
In my little home
Sadness overwhelms.
Looking forward’s hard
Past this veil of tears
Into future years…
When do you feel most productive?
I usually feel better in summer, at the moment the daylight is increasing and I feel slightly more productive. I somehow usually come out of myself in the spring, and as the season progresses I feel more enthusiastic.
This year? I don’t know, I’ve spent a lot of time just staring at things. My motivation is really low. I don’t go out much so I probably low on vitamin D. I will try and get over the feeling of sadness and anxiety. I would like to be more productive as the days lengthen. I will have to see what happens.
Looking at these kittens from 7 years ago cheers me up. The sun is shining, there is a nice film on the TV. But I really feel down and anxious. I want to talk to someone, but everyone has their own lives to lead and I don’t want to bother them. I could ring up but my phone is on the blink. I talk but the person at the other end can’t hear me although I can hear them. I feel like it’s a metaphor (is that the right word?) for my life, frustrated and worried. Will things ever be good again? Will I find a modicum of happiness? I don’t know.
We sat and planned places to go. He wanted to go to the East coast and Scotland. I wanted to go to Devon and the Lake district. We thought over the next few years we would visit places like Cardiff or the Angel of the North.
It would be our big adventure. The time would be set aside, we would get cat sitters and take a few days away. Not months, but enough to explore places.
What was stopping us? I was nervous of driving long distances after developing shakes a couple of years ago. He didn’t drive because of his anxiety. But I’d hoped that I would have a diagnosis and get better. I would have loved to go to those places.
But things happened, Covid came and went, trains were unreliable, neither of us liked coaches, we preferred the freedom of our car. In the last year though we drove less than 500 miles. We stuck to places we knew and enjoyed.
Why am I mentioning this? Watching TV, seeing a destination that I might still visit, but without him? What’s the point? He was my partner, life time companion, friend, and I want him back!
Mallaband-Brown