home to the puzzle box ~ my grief at 3 years 3 months

first off, don't be startled with the first "song."  it really is what you're hearing.  i found a fog horn.  keep reading.  it has meaning.

i'm ahead of myself.  it won't be 3 years, 3 months until tomorrow night at midnight, but i have a bit of time this afternoon, taking a break from embroidery work, and i wanted to get my thoughts down.

at this point in my life, i sincerely believe what i wrote up there in gold under my main photo.  i had once thought of my whole life as a journey.  i was arrogant, and so very wrong.  it was simply my life.  now that my Dragon has died, i am truly on a journey.  grief, dealing with his death and all the questions, guilt, and fears that came with it; this is my journey.

in the days and weeks that followed his death i used to ask myself, why did we only get 8 years?  why had all the terrors of my life lead me to the warmth of his love, only to take it away after so short a time?  i told myself, i have convinced myself, that his death was predestined and that his guardian angel was not going to let him die alone.  after the life he lead, the missions he went on as a Marine, all the times he must have wondered, "will i die out here and nobody come claim my body," all the times he came home wounded, the fears he must have had, he died with me holding him, giving him CPR, talking to him, soothing him, telling him he was so very dearly loved.

and it is me left to deal with what's left all alone.

i read once that "death ends a life, but it does not end a relationship, which struggles on in the survivor's mind towards some resolution which it may never find."  in my experience that is true.  my relationship with my husband has not ended.  i still wear my wedding rings.  at this point, i most likely always will.  i cannot take them off without feeling claustrophobic.

i do have my memories of him, of where we walked, of our little place by the ocean, up in the cove.  there was  a small gate off our property that we walked through to get to the beach.

 we had to walk through our gate and across the top of the ridge to get down to the beach because we were set up a bit high.

this view is from the back yard, looking southeast towards Thatcher light.

and this is from the edge of our backyard looking east northeast toward what i always called, my island.

this the view looking out from the den toward "my island" that i saw everyday.  we'd hear the fog horn sound sometimes, especially at night, and know that lonely sound was reaching out to any mariner who was still out there trying to find their way home.  we'd listen to the wind rattle the windows.

i took this set of three photos the day before one Thanksgiving.  a nor'easter was expected that night with high winds.  i loved those nights.

he and i would lay together upstairs in our small bedroom under the eves and snuggle.  we'd hear the ice hit the glass behind our headboard.

i hold onto those memories when i drive the now half hour to work and all i see is concrete and red earth and traffic.  i humbly thank God for my job that pays my way to survive, but when i am back at the apartment with my little Carmen Sophia and my dashing Scootie Wootums, i remember when i could walk them on the beach.  i remember when we would sit and laugh at them bite at the water rushing the sand and rocks.

i remember feeling the sunshine on my skin and the wind in my hair.  i remember the smell of salt and the sound of gulls and water.

oh, and that Thanksgiving morning?  we woke to this.

i miss him terribly.  i miss him and still sometimes cry.  i miss him in songs i hear.  i wish i could tell him things.

i talked to a widow i know who lives across the Pond in Europe, and she agreed with me.  she and i will probably never look for another man.  she is two months longer into her widow journey than i so we are at the same place time-wise, and seem to be at the same place emotionally.

we miss them.  we are doing what we can to make this journey tolerable.  she in her way.  me in mine.

i look for peace.  i try to create it when i cannot find it.  and i tell myself that i'm doing alright when what i feel is sort of the opposite.  i am lonely, but not for anyone but him.  only he will do.  i look at myself and say, "you're out of the box."  we were a puzzle that had two pieces.  he is back in the box.  i am still out here in the world struggling to make sense of what's left.  he got to where he was supposed to be, but it was much too soon for me.  he left me behind.  our timelines were off.

in every life there comes a journey.  maybe we think we choose it, but i don't think so.  i think it chooses us.  i am what i am making of myself with what life has left me with, which, compared to what i had, isn't much.  well, it certainly isn't as scenically beautiful.

i miss the ocean.  i miss the snow.  i miss the wind, water, gulls, and the fog horn.  i sometimes wonder if, when i dream i hear that fog horn, it really is sounding off up there and is reaching out to me trying to call me home.  home to the ocean's edge.   home to the beach i knew and loved.

or maybe that fog horn i still here in my mind and in my heart is letting me know that it is out there in the fog i cannot see through, the fog of what's to come; letting me know i have a sound to walk towards so i can find my way home.........

home to the puzzle box where my darling, beautiful Dragon's piece sits and waits for me.

toward him

i am still here. i wish to thank C., and C.L., and M., and T., and V. for the emails of concern and care. you took the time to reach out to me during your busy lives and i am very, very grateful. you saw me for what i am and what my life has become ~ a Bunny who has fallen off her Dragon over open water. she is treading water, not knowing which way to swim. your kindness means so much. bless you all.

i have been alternating between all-consuming panic and an acceptance that this is my life now. i am waiting for the VA ~ still in that 10 - 40 day period of when they say they will let me know. i am still searching for work. my son and daughter have both told me that, no matter what happens, i will never be homeless or without food. my son-in-law's father has even tried to reassure me. and i do feel that they are weaving a net under me. my children reminded me of a book i read to them when they were small titled, "A Special Trade." i raised them and kept them safe. my Dragon and i paid for them to get through college. it is time for me to lean on them. it does, however, cause me great, great pain to be in this position. i am desperately and actively searching for work via outside my apartment and through encouraging anyone to recommend my sewing skills to whomever may want them. please.

i have been hiding from life by working almost nonstop on all the embroidery on a quilt and on jeans for a little girl.

i am almost finished with a sunset on a beach image my client wants. still a little more orange to go but i bought the floss today so, after this posting, back at it.

and i give my back a break from the quilt embroidery work by going to sit on my balcony and embroider on a pair of jeans for a little girl, a sweet 6 year-old who even wrote me a note thanking me in advance.

this pair will be my version of a Tasha Tudor garden. the next pair will have a unicorn on a beach with a sand castle.

i can hide in my embroidery work. my air conditioner broke a month or so ago and the apartment had been getting up to 95 degrees inside, hence sitting on the balcony as much as possible. the part finally came in and the two men came to fix it. they saw the beach embroidery and were almost speechless. they both paused over it, gingerly touched the treads. i told them a little about the young man for whom the quilt will belong, a little about the family, and why i go to so much extra effort and detail to try and bring them comfort. my daughter tried to point out that i really do good work.

{she was a little more ebullient with the compliments but i cannot repeat those words. i cannot talk about myself that way. i can only see my flaws and faults. my Dragon was my mirror and he is gone. before him, i never saw myself as anything other than the words used by my mother and Voldemort to describe me. i had only in the last couple of years accepted that my Dragon really believed i was valuable. he taught me to see what he saw. this is something i will have to remember, his words, when i look in a mirror. but always, i will keep these memories to myself since he is not here to back me up.}

i miss him. i miss him desperately. i miss him holding my hand. i miss laying with him reading, his fingers absentmindedly playing with my hair. i miss his touching me. i miss him coming up behind me whispering his risque plans for a romantic evening. i miss him. i miss everything about our life together.

it has been 20 months and 10 days. the full moon is coming. i am tired. i am in pain. i am lonely, but only lonely for him. i need to survive without being too big a burden to my children. i need the VA to approve the pension. being terrified and poor and grieving is purgatory. time is passing and i am further and further away from the last time i held him and smelled his skin and kissed his mouth. i am being pushed along to places and experiences i never wanted to feel again, or to feel for the first time.

throughout this time, i have been keeping him alive in my mind. i have written that my heart is gone and after introspection, it really is gone. i do not feel anything anymore except my love for him and for my children. beyond that, i am empty. i still have no interest in even thinking about meeting a man. no one compares to my Dragon, and i am still too involved in my memories of my Dragon's lovemaking, in his way of giving me faith that i matter, in his way of letting me know how much he needed me, like i needed him. i am still too much in love with him. i had a terrible marriage, one where the pendulum swung from being ignored to being hurt. and then my Dragon came into my life and he gave me so much more than a marriage. he gave me a sacrament.

i love him. i miss him. i wish he could tell me what to do. i wish he could just whisper in my ear like before: "it's going to be all right."

but really, even after 20 months and 10 days, all i have to do is close my eyes. his voice comes to me and i can hear him. i keep my eyes closed and focus on his strength. i try to feel his belief in me. when i find it, when i can breathe it in, then i can get up and go on.

toward him.

"i love you

not only for what you are

but for what i am when i am with you.

i love you

not only for what you have made of yourself

but for what you are making of me.

i love you

for the part of me that you bring out;

i love you

for putting your hand into my heaped-up heart

and passing over all the foolish, weak things

that you can't help

dimly seeing there,

and for drawing out into the light

all the beautiful belongings

that no one else had looked

quite far enough to find.

i love you

because you are helping me to make

of the lumber of my life

not a tavern

but a temple;

out of the works of my every day

not a reproach

but a song.

i love you

because you have done more than any creed

could have done

to make me good

and more than any fate could have done

to make me happy.

you have done it

without a touch,

without a word,

without a sign.

you have done it by being yourself.

perhaps that is what

being a friend {my lover, my husband} means

after all."

~ Roy Croft

living alone

i miss you and sometimes, so much so that i don’t know what to do with myself.

i wonder if i will ever feel safe again. through all the years, i only felt safe with you. and now you’ve gone where i cannot follow, not just yet. i don't know what to do anymore without you, without including you in my thoughts.

i know how to be alone. i have been alone all my life, but then you found me and we were one and the loss of that kind of oneness, that level of togetherness, cannot be be dealt with simply. the loss of your physical presence is far too devastating.

it is such a hot, beautiful day here. you would love it. we would have walked to Long Beach and been searching for driftwood and shells, and stones. we would swim in the chilly ocean and then walked again, up and down drying off in the heat. i would have watched you walk because i love your back, the breadth of your shoulders, and your legs. you would be glancing back, knowing i was taking photos of you. and you would smile. you would have smiled. we are not there because you are not here.

disenfranchised. that is the one word that describes the enormity of what has happened to me. you died and i was cut adrift, left to fight alone the myriad of battles life will always bring to anyone’s door, to my door. i am tired from the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." i feel world-weary and battle-scarred. and you are not here to touch me, to engulf me in your arms and hold me to your heart.

who do i call upon, our exhausted daughter, our overworked son? i find cannot. i am still their mother and i take that honor very seriously. i signed on forever as mom. i need them at times and i do ask but to burden them with being my daily friends? i cannot do that to them.

our girl brought over her medium format camera and we took a photo of the moon. she and i said to each other, "why haven't we done this before?" we simply didn't think of it. it took a few days for the development. you remember. it is not the kind of film to run down to the local Wolf Camera or the CVS. but i have it now and i love it. my moon shot of all moon shots. but it will not stop me from going out there every full moon from now until the end of time.

i got through Easter. our daughter and her husband came and got me and brought me over to his grandmother’s for lunch. it was his family there, the in-laws. i tried to interject into the conversation. i smiled. i mentioned you. our daughter’s mother-in-law and her sister-in-law were talking about the selective hearing of their husbands. i merely mentioned that you had had excellent hearing and that it had been a game of sorts for me to try and sneak up on you. nothing worked. they looked at me and nodded so i know they saw me, but they never said much.

“uh, huh.” that was all that was said.

our girl was so upset. she asked her mother-in-law about it privately and was told, “we never knew him and it was inappropriate for her to bring him up at our family meal.”

disenfranchised. everywhere i go. i simply do not understand it. i feel so lost without you. i feel invisible. how do people not see me, or feel they can say and do these things and it be all right? i am a person. and i have feelings. i think i am developing a persecution complex.

you always took care of my feelings. you always hugged me, held my hand, and poof, i was visible. no one ignored me or treated me badly when i was with you. i was the Dragon’s wife, and that carried a lot of weight.

i am feeling the loss of you acutely. life is just going to go on and on this way and i honestly cannot look too far into the future. it makes me so tired. the children are grown and i am not needed like i once was. i have no life here other than the one i have created inside this apartment. i need something to happen that’s good for me. i need some freedom. i need a break from all this worry and anguish. i need you and your magic. i miss you more than even i thought possible, and i knew how much you meant to me after just a few weeks of meeting you.

i need to get a hold of myself and start liking myself as much as you did. the two widows who were so cruel have been leaving me alone and now i know that joining our daughter with her new in-laws won’t be something i’ll never do again. live and learn. somehow, someway, maybe something good will happen to me. not another you, but just a change in the circumstances of my life. money. a vehicle. something that sets me free.

i dream of moving back to the ocean but that is just a dream.

as you always were - my dream. as you are now - my dream. always there, in my dreams. here is my inept attempt at a poem for you today. i think it is awful. you would have pulled me in your lap and told me it was beautiful.

living alone with the dream of love

is a lonely thing to do.

i sit with the memories

all the time

and simply think of you.

i remember how it was when you were here

it was magic to be loved by you.

you shined your light

on my life

all i wanted was you.

i wonder if i’ll ever feel safe again

because i only felt safe with you.

you held me tight

and whispered your love

but now i no longer do.

i’m tired and i’m spent and i’m homesick, too

i miss the ocean and you.

i don’t know what’s coming

i’m scared and lost

and yes, all i’ll ever want is you.

hitting "the wall"

in any test of someone’s endurance, mostly applied to marathons, there is a saying. hitting “the wall.” it has been seven weeks since the one year anniversary of my Dragon’s death on February 9^th and i think that is what has happened to me. i have hit “the wall.”

i feel miserable. there is a tiredness permeating my body that feels like it has settled in deeply and for the long haul. i cry, still, easily. i worry my worries and fret my fears. i am losing interest in a great many things. i cannot turn my back on him. i cannot put my Dragon or his death in any perspective other than right beside me. i fight against thinking about how he died and my role in being unable to save him. it was so quick. there were no conscious good-byes for us.

“good-night. i love you.” only a moment of drowsiness and then his choking death from a fatal heart attack.

i miss him. i am lonely for him. i would give all the world to be with him or have him come back. i have moments through these days when i lean back in my chair, put my arms across my face and sob for him. i am not here if he cannot see me. i am over-wrought and so very sad.

i see each day play out. get up. take the dogs out. eat breakfast. sew. eat lunch. take the dogs out. sew. eat supper. take the dogs out. sew. take the dogs out. go to bed.

my daughter calls first thing in the morning and last thing at night. my son calls 3 or 4 times a week. i don’t have a car but it seems my library branch has had a stay of execution. i will be able to still walk there to check out my peeks into a world that i’ll never visit.

i am tired. i hurt. i am lonely. i want him back. i miss being loved by him. i feel like an ancient crone for whom her arthritis has taken her energy and grief has taken her life. i am looking forward to Camp Widow but even in thinking about that, i am becoming timid. i have to go, but i am, oh, God, i am really going to say it. i am afraid. i know there will be tears there but as many as mine? some people are going to be joyous there, happy at being united, or reunited, with friends. these people will have lives to talk about, and jobs to complain about. they have taken trips and will have done things and achieved victories i had not. i look in the mirror and i do not know who that woman is. segue to what would my Dragon think?

i look careworn and sorrowful. i look like i am grieving. i look like i have hit a "wall."

i have to remember what my Dragon would say. i need to close my eyes and remember him, his actions, his voice. “Love, you are so beautiful to me.” there would be no hesitation. he would move to me and take me in his arms and kiss me, wipe away my tears with his lips. he would let me see in his eyes all the love he felt for me. and i would feel warm. i would feel the heat of his gaze and my aching joints would become loose. my tattered heart would beat stronger. he loves me. i would bloom under his care.if only. but no more. there is an echo here when i call out his name no matter how many quilts i hang on the walls of this apartment to keep the sound from reverberating.

i pray. every morning. every night. i find i talk to God as if He were sitting in the next room, unseen but listening all the same. He knows how bad this is for me. He has to be trying to let me know that i’ll see my Dragon again if only i would stop crying and listen to Him.

but i am the one who is making this hard. it is me sitting outside, unable to go in. i think i cry so hard for my Dragon that i cannot hear anything but my own pain. thus, i have hit "the wall."

several years ago i found out i was losing my hearing. i am hard of hearing but i am not of the deaf world by any stretch of the imagination. i have one of those phones that will amplify incoming calls so no one knows, but of course, now you know. depending upon the surroundings i can hear enough of the words and read lips to follow most every face-to-face conversation. but at first it was difficult to face.

i was sent to ASL classes and the administrator of the school learned i was an artist. he wanted to hire me to do a mural for the wall outside the school. since some of the students were also sight-impaired to fully blind i talked him into letting me build a wall on top of the wall instead. the results of my labor were fully appreciated by both deaf and blind alike and i was happy with what i had done. what i had wanted to say to them without words had been understood. the wall is a visual and tactile experience. it can be looked at and touched. i had wanted it to say, “i understand.” i took a risk with it but i received a lot of hugs from the children who attended the school, and from the grown-ups, like me, who were having to make some adjustments to their lives.

{it is ironic, isn’t it? i built a wall and now, years later, i’ve hit one.}

when i met my Dragon, i had to explain about my little hearing problem. he was very good about it. he told me he had a friend who had been in artillery. he had to yell at him every time they saw each other so learning to talk a bit with his hands for certain situations wouldn't be a problem. and if he forgot certain signs, he knew how to yell. it was a moment that could have been awkward for me, but he made me laugh and relax.

i told him i had built a wall and he wanted to see it. i did not tell him anything about the design as we drove up. i wanted to get his initial reaction, unprepared and therefore unbiased.

he was amazed at the intricacies. he really liked it. he said when we owned our own home, he wanted me to make one for us. the wall was really the first time he’d seen anything big that i had done. he told me he fell more in love with me because of the person i was that came up with it.

i feel like my wall now. i try on faces to see if i can look better, appear better, or make myself feel better, but i do not. i do not feel better and it has been 13 months now. i have hit “the wall.” i do not know how long i will feel this way. i do not like feeling this way but if this is part of my own personal journey then i can only accept it. i can only keep getting up, walking the dogs, sewing, etc. you know the routine. it does not vary in any way except on Mondays when my daughter comes to take me out. maybe it will be over soon.

and if this is the way i am going to feel from now on, i will accept that, too, for two reasons. one, because no one really knows about grief, do they? and two, because to feel this badly for this long, and longer, our love really was a fairy tale come true. the Dragon and the silent woman from the shadows. who would have thought it could happen?

equilibrium

my life has been turned upside down. again. this time there is no chance of recovery, only acceptance.

i survived childhood committed to a philosophy of never treating my own children as i had been treated. fear is not a teaching tool i care for.

i survived a twenty year marriage to a thoughtless man, Voldemort, who saw me as someone who, in his words, "would always take it. i thought i had you trained." i'd tried to run once when my children were babies but he tracked me through a credit card receipt. he came for us, for my son. he had my son in his arms and said, "you can have her and go. he's mine." he had my son. there is no terror greater than what those four words can do to a mother. he had my son. i made a decision that moment to endure the life he made me have. i could not run again. he watched too closely. "where's the change from the cash?" and if i had a check, like an inheritance check from my father's estate, $35,000 that i had wanted put into two savings accounts for my two children, it went missing. "i took it. you don't know how to handle money." before you scold me about his taking my inheritance check know that i did ask questions. i did investigate. what happened because i dared to is not a story to relate casually or quickly so i will cut to the end of the story. i never saw the money again.

but i survived the marriage by waiting. i got my divorce when my children were old enough to stand up to him, to have learned how to handle him. i do not have to live with him anymore. no more pinches. no more fingernails digging into my upper arm guiding me to a more private place. he can't lecture me or berate me anymore for failing his daily expectations. i had gone around a corner and caught a glimpse of the sun. and in that sunlit sky was a dragon of a man living and breathing so beautifully. and the Dragon saw me.

this Dragon was stronger, meaner, and tougher than Voldemort had ever fancied himself as. the Dragon was very capable and ready of following through on his promises if Voldemort did anything to hurt my children or me. but this Dragon was also kind and loving, generous and crazy in love with living every moment of his life. so brave, so blessed are those who can do that. blessed for some reason, the Dragon became my Dragon and he loved me. he wanted to be with me and live his life with me beside him. but he'd have to teach me some things.

he was in the middle of teaching me that i didn't have to ask permission to speak. i didn't have to start each sentence with, "i'm sorry." he was teaching me that i didn't have to listen to the weight and speed of every footstep. i didn't have to watch the tells of anger in face and hands, in shoulders or legs. no one was going to come after me again. we got the children off safe to their own new, grown up lives. we were just getting started on a new life together where i had love and encouragement, pride in my creative attempts, and, all i can do is go back to that one word because it frees us for every other thing possible, love. my Dragon loved me.

eight years. only eight years out of fifty-one to try to get myself out of the suitcase i had put myself in to protect myself for so long. to hide myself from my mother. to protect myself from Voldemort. eight years to break five decades of Stockholm syndrome. it is harder than it seems, to accept freedom.

eight years with my Dragon before he died. sometimes, in my darker moments, it feels like it he was a gift that was taken back. as if God said, "here he is. this is your dream. see him? he's a dragon with honor and courage. do you love him? you do? good, because he's worth it. okay, well, now you know what you can aspire to. i'm taking him home. you are to do this alone. buck up. he loves you. have a little faith."

i still cry everyday. sometimes a little. sometimes a lot. being so very much alone is hard. i can't call a friend to go out to a movie, or to come sit with me. no one has me over for gatherings or simply to keep me from being alone so much. i don't own a car so i stay here in the apartment and work. i love sewing but the monotony of waking knowing i cannot get into a car to take myself out for a short drive does make me feel bad sometimes. i do let my thoughts stray to why i could not connect with the widow's group. i waffle from feeling selfish for wanting to tell my own story to feeling like i shouldn't have to tolerate the things that happened to me from some of them. i try to be fair and realize i don't have a history here and trying to build one with women who are themselves grieving is asking too much of them. they don't know me. maybe they don't really like my personality. not everyone has to like everyone they meet and a widow's group just happens. survivors stray over to the closest group of people who might understand. but they don't have to understand or like you just because they are on the same journey.

so i am living and accepting my grief over the death of my Dragon alone. i write here and get wonderful feedback. i've "met" some wonderful people who i believe would miss me if i failed to ever appear again, if my photo behind my blog description never changed again. i have been gifted with the chance to go to Camp Widow 2010 in August to meet some of these people. i am humbly grateful.

i am living with my grief and i have not traveled far even though in three days it will be eleven months since he died. but i think i have found an equilibrium. by definition, equilibrium is being at a state of rest or balance due to the equal action of opposing forces. the opposing forces are my deep sorrow and devastation over his death pulling me face down in the dirt against the power of his love for me trying to keep me moving. well, i'm moving a little bit. his love will always win. he is that powerful of a man. his love is that incredible. but i metaphorically lie down a lot, but i lie down face up so i can see the sky. the moon and the stars, the sun in the daytime are so beautiful. so when i am tired from grieving the loss of him, i lie down, but not in the dirt. in some nice grass that is warm and soft and sweet smelling. and i do cry, but i am looking up so the tears run down the sides of my face and water the grass. then i get up and move a bit further. mostly by crawling, but any momentum is a good thing. then i lie down face up again to watch the clouds float by, or watch the phases of the moon.

i've read so many books on grief. i've read so many quotes. i've finally settled on one that fits me right now.

George Eliot: But she lost energy at last even for her loud-whispered cries and moans: she subsided into helpless sobs, and on the cold floor she sobbed herself to sleep. In the chill hours of the morning twilight, when all was dim around her, she awoke--not with any amazed wondering where she was or what had happened, but with the clearest consciousness that she was looking into the eyes of sorrow. She rose and wrapped warm things around her, and seated herself in a great chair where she had often watched before. She was vigorous enough to have borne that hard night without feeling ill in body, beyond some aching and fatigue, but she had waked to a new condition: she felt as if her soul had been liberated from its terrible conflict; she was no longer wrestling with her grief, but could sit down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer on her thoughts.

i know i will leave something behind when i die, quilts for others who grieve and dragons for my children to hold and remember the Dragon who came into their lives and had their backs, and who loved their mother with his whole being. a love like that deserves some embroidered dragons.

an abstract life

the moon rises and is a warm color. buff or beige with the craters being the darker mottling on the surface. i've thought of her as a woman. the lonely woman next door who can only shine when the sun shines on her. sort of like me. i shined when my Dragon smiled at me. but i do know that the surface creates an illusion called "the Man in the Moon." masculine and feminine.

i feel a kinship with the moon and sometimes think of her in the feminine. but when i search for the moon, possessively and painstakingly wait for it to clear the trees so i can talk to the moon face to face, it is to my Dragon that i speak. only the moon can pull this off in my imagination. only in my imagination would it have to.
as the Earth turns, the moon appears smaller in the night sky and it starts to cool off in color. to me it looks more silver. it's subtle. maybe no one has noticed and you can't see what i see as a difference between the two photographs above. it might only look that way to me. value, hue; color has always been a huge part of my life as an artist.

this holiday season has been difficult to put it mildly. beyond the obvious of missing my Dragon, i have had to face some very harsh realities. i am alone. not to put too fine a point to it, or one that is melodramatic, but i realized yesterday that if i died right now, only two people would come to my funeral, my daughter and my son.

my brother doesn't speak because i committed the unspeakable. i became a Catholic.

i lived a segregated life before the Dragon and few kept up with me. after the divorce and becoming my Dragon's wife, we lived such poor lives, gypsy lives, that no one could know us, or me rather. the church at his funeral on Valentine's Day had almost 50 people that managed to drop everything to come and pay their respects to a man whom they cared about and deeply respected.

no, it is only me who has managed to get this far and leave no trace of my existence. only in an abstract sense am in here.

i am not pouting. i am merely trying to work this out in my head. seeing it in black and white helps.

people here online will suddenly realize that i am no longer here. my daughter has all my passwords and knows to post a notice should anything untoward happen. i value all i have "met" here and i am arrogant enough to think you all need to know why i might no longer be a "voice" here. that's it. it's you. all of you. and there is no way she would think to do a posting until after i am gone by at least a couple of weeks.

thus my funeral will be an "Eleanor Rigby."

why this horrible missive? what brought this on? a couple of things and i've been thinking about them for the last three days.

one. the woman who gave me the book inscribed to her friend called upon her return from her vacation over Christmas. i had been crying and she thought my voice sounded "rough." i explained and she thought i should try to sound better on the phone. i tried. she talked about her trip and how wonderful it was. i listened and murmured in the appropriate places but i admit i was sad that day. actively sad. New Year's was coming. that whole thing about it being a different year number than the one he died in. but i did listen. i heard everything and told her i was happy for her. but she said i did not sound excited enough for her, and that i should be because it had been such a reversal of emotional fortune for her (my terminology - verbatim it was: "i had the best time, better than i thought i would considering it's my first Christmas as a widow and you should be happy for me, well, sound happier. i'm sorry you're having a tough day but this is my time and i'm trying to tell you about it. you should rise to the occasion.")

i just could not manage to make my voice rise enough and she hung up on me. an email on New Year's eve from her confirmed her anger and criticism of my lack of understanding her needs. apparently i am not a good friend. i failed to measure up to. there is nothing i can do about it. i could not apologize enough nor make her understand that i was having a very bad day and i was alone through it.

second. with my dismissal from her life, i realized that should anything happen to me, only the fact that i would not answer my cell when my daughter called would anyone know something was wrong. no one but her calls daily. no friends check in with me because i have acquaintances. there is one widow who reads my writing and i do not want her to feel berated. she is young and dealing with her own pain. she touches base and i do feel that if i were doing a "Hamlet," a "to be or not to be" thing, i could call her. but you see, i will never get that close to the edge. i fight against that despair every minute of every day. and that is the only reason i would bother her.

i believe in God and in doing so, i have to at least acknowledge that there is evil. evil can be found in despair. it is the absence of all hope and i will not go there. i will fight and struggle and find a way to stay connected to a world that i have managed to leave no footprints on.

yes, i know. the quilts. and my writing. i get emails that instill me with hope that i matter. and i am humbly grateful. but again, it leaves only an abstract mark, like the feeling of a passing zephyr. you feel the gentle caress but then it passes and you will forget that moment. the quilts are tangible solace and once they are made, they are a tribute to the one whose clothes they are made from. that's the foundation of my creations. to honor and bring to a renewed life the clothing left behind. the quilts are for the families. i bow out and move to start on the next one. but i also worry about getting more commissions.

i worry about people wanting what i can make, what i can give them. i think these quilts will be my sole legacy besides my two children who really are enough. but i live such a solitary existence and i believe everyone wants to think that they will be missed. i believe everyone wants to believe that someone will stand in a church beside their remains, whether they be in a casket or as ash in an urn, and know that someone, several someones, knew them well enough to pick out hymns, readings, or composed something from the heart. i think people need to hold onto the idea that they will be missed and that friends as well as family will gather together and mourn them, that losing them will be awful and their life celebrated.

it's something i need to work out in my head. i need to find the lasting power of being abstract. it has just been hard to realize that my life is more abstract than most. the people who might miss me, won't miss me until it's all water under the bridge. that subtle wonder of where i might be. "she hasn't written in a while. i wonder what she's up to?"

sort of like the warm and cool colors of the moon. until someone points it out, you don't really notice.