I Know Writing, Drawing, Designing....I Don't Know Grieving

Grieving is what has arrived. My brother, York, died recently... way too recently, and here I am on this porch in this cottage surrounded by this healing nest. I know writing, drawing, laughing out loud. Grieving, I don’t know. Is there a path to grieving? A path I failed to include in the paths around this cottage. Is there a ‘way’ in which to grieve? I know of support groups and books to read. I’m doing that. The cliches of “time heals”, “things will get better, easier, less emotional” circle around me. What are these words? I believe them as they say in french, en principe, in principle. And so what, I say again.

En principle doesn’t take away the reality of not feeling like I’m in my body. It doesn’t stop the sudden remembering of times gone by. I want to be on the page for writing my book, I want to feel clear, decisive, creative, smart and alert to the details first time around. The problem with grieving is that sometimes I am those things. Other times, I’m a baby needing nurturing. I myself am only beginning to understand this process. So I want to be forgiving of those who don’t ‘get it’ anymore than I do; those who haven’t been there; or those who wish I’d get over it’. They’re ‘done with it,’ what’s wrong with me?

Maybe I’m angry because they get to be ‘done with it,’ and I don’t. My grief is buried deep. It contains not just my brother but also the parents I never grieved thirty years ago. Grief has shown up as a package deal I could have done without. But here it is. I’ve come to understand that by not grieving a death it sits within us until we do the grieving. Did I know then, 30 years ago, that I hadn’t grieved my parents. No. Yes. I fled the hospital, I escaped to Europe, I worked more not less. I talked about it in the 50 minute therapy hour for a few months, and then moved on. That was the best I could do at that time. How many other incompletes are left in there tangling on the clothesline?

There is hope.

This heart is breaking open. It is opening to all kinds of feelings and incompletes. My sister-in-law, Nan, said it aptly, “the heart opens (breaks) to make room to love more people.” This gives me hope for something good coming out of heart break. The potential of loving and being loved more fully. Knowing friends talk to me about how the heart literally opens. That it is physiological. No wonder it hurts so much. Heart ache, heart break heart attack, heart burn, heart felt, heart throb, faint of heart; it is our heart muscle being asked to work in new ways.

This is not about haut-design

I’ve learned something about condolence cards and it’s not about design. When someone is in a difficult passage we often don’t know what to say. So we say nothing. We don’t know what to do. So we do nothing. I’ve never been one to send a condolence card. It’s a note, or not. I have to say, no matter how lacking in design a condolence card may be, I’ve come to appreciate everyone of them. It’s the idea that someone thought to communicate that matters (by card, letter or other expression). Nightly, I come home and wonder ‘who and what awaits me in the mailbox.’ It doesn’t matter how pretty, or how perfectly crafted is the message, what matters is that it arrived - that is was received.

Gifts

Writing is a gift I welcome. I’m tired of talking out loud. It’s not my best way of expressing right now. It takes more interaction than I feel up to. Writing is a good thing.

I feel fortunate to have been asked to write about this house, home, cottage and this process through a yet to be titled book. No matter the title, for the moment, it is about the journey of creating our homes and why it’s important to nurture our broken hearts and to celebrate our joyful moments. It is a gift this book writing opportunity. It reminds me of how and why I came here. I have not missed the coincidence of my being here now in this current need of nurturing. I am reminded daily of why it was created in the first place as I re-experience this small cottage wrapping its’ arms around me. There are no coincidences in life. As far as I can tell, there are, however, miracles.

P.S. And yes, the book came to be and it does have a title:
Create the Space You Deserve.
An Artistic Journey to Expressing Yourself Through Your Home