Friday, January 29, 2016

Shipwreck

                                 
Acrylic on canvas
Not for sale

They say grief comes in waves and oh, how I can relate to just about any metaphor that has to do with the sea. A wave that curls itself around and thrashes to the ground, folding backward with the force of momentum. Well, if grief be a wave, I be the lady who has almost drown a time or two. I am the shipwreck and the fish swim right through the heart of me.

I had a dream that my sister was not dead, but had given birth to twins and had wandered off somewhere to take care of these new babies. In my mind it was so real, the birth, the blood, the babies. All so real. I called my mother with a sense of triumph--having fooled myself completely, to tell her of my dream. I thought I had discovered the cure for all of this. I was completely convinced, for a least half a second. When I told my mother about this dream, I wanted her to tell me it was an accurate dream. I wanted her to tell me that there was no death, only birth and birth times two. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized what a fool I was. She's not here. There are no babies. She is gone. She is just plain gone.

Denial is cruel and sad and I was so deeply entrenched in it, it scared me. The heartache began anew. I have had days where I wondered how I would ever bear it, I have days where I have been utterly terrified of losing Ian, or my children. My footsteps felt like lead. My eyes, red, raw and swollen from endless crying. I know this is some sort of stage of grief. I get it.

The waves washed over me and then moved on. I feel fortified now. I feel stronger and more realistically aware of the situation. I am learning to resist the temptation to shut the reality away. I've kept myself busy busy busy and they say that you should do that. They say you should just keep moving forward. But, I say, when you do that, you are prolonging the inevitable. Facing things head-on is much better, in the end. Of course, I learned this the hard way.

We are getting very close to the one year anniversary of her death. I always said the strangest thing about this will always be the fact that, as I get older and as time moves on, I will say that I had two sisters, once. Now I have just one. That's the thing that gets me the most... Now I just have one.

I loved her so very very much.



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