I choose today to let Madame Grief do with me as she wishes. I believe she has healing powers, but surrendering to her is the only way to access those outcomes. The catch is that she roughs you up along the way. Because I have a technicolor basket of things to mourn, it’s best, in my opinion, to just let go and trust this path, shitball nightmare that it is.
This is my soapbox, as you know (my name is engraved on the side). When my mom died almost 20 years ago, it was a similarly intense experience, grieving her. We had a complicated relationship. I thought I was losing my mind. But I emerged, afterward, stronger, clearer, and more confident. So I guess feeling all the raw pain today is a kind of investment, right? Hoping for a stronger, healthier me? I suppose so. It’s quite isolating, these beliefs. Our culture doesn’t exactly encourage warm hugs and comfort. Lots of people recommend drugs. But I want to be alert for this and see it through. Maybe I’m a masochist. I’m OK with that. Maybe I will come out the other side with increased strength and joy and clarity.
And boy howdy it sucks. Every effing minute. Some days I wish my broken heart would just stop beating and save me from doing this one more day. But maybe my heart is just getting sturdier. Maybe I have the ovaries to see this through.
[Regarding this artwork — my dear friend brought me a spectacular bouquet from her stunning garden and it was my subject matter today for our artists’ group, Brushes by the Bay. I find great comfort in making art with other creative folks.]
6″ x 6″ ink, watercolor on paper = $45