why are you still here? / ivy covered brain

i have been working today without pause, music playing to soothe the muse. there are so many things on my mind, so many things i want to make. and there are so many worries pressing on my chest. with all this mulling over of thoughts in my mind, the inevitable question comes to mind. it is the one that was asked of me recently.

"why are you still here?"

why am i still here? what am i good for? my children are grown and my Dragon has died. my little dogs love me and need me, but somehow i think they would get along okay should my face turn up on a milk carton. oh, for gosh sakes, i need to make a list and have Bunny be me so you have visuals.

i can sew. i make quilts for people. i can take any article of clothing, all of them given to me, and put them together to make a quilt to offer comfort. i listen to the stories of grief from others and take them into my mind. i hold it all close so that i can design something as close to perfect as i can. and then i ask the person who died how they want the quilt to look.

okay, you caught me. i put pins in my mouth and you should NOT do that so ignore the pins in Bunny’s mouth and look at her as she eyeballs the quilt she is making for someone. she is so intent on getting it right. i do the same thing. i want every quilt to be exactly what the person who commissioned it needs it to be.

i am a good housekeeper. i keep the apartment very neat and tidy. yes, i even put my hair back to get all the tough places. i vacuum behind and underneath the furniture and, as Bunny demonstrates, i even do windows.

i can do pretty embroidery. i can do counted cross stitch but i can also draw anything for anyone on anything and embroider it for them. i can do whatever anyone wants with a needle and thread. i tie my ears back, i mean my hair, and work so hard to please. that is a good thing.

but i need to admit that while all those things are good points, and might warrant me my quota of oxygen, i do feel that what i was here for, mostly, was for him, my Dragon. he would have been alone when he died if it had not been for me being there with him. i took care of him before he died. i took care of him as he died. and i sat with his silent body after he died. i touched his beard. i smoothed his hair. and i talked to him and told him i was going to take care of him in exactly the way he had asked me to should this tragedy happen to him first.

i am with him still, now that he has gone. i will always be the Dragon’s wife. it is just something i feel very deeply. “never say never,” but how about “i know for pretty sure that this is the way it’s going to be.”

i love him and i miss him, sometimes terribly. sometimes so much so that i cannot breath. i claw at my neck and chest and have to stand up. i drop my needle and start looking for a way out. but there is no way out of not getting to grow old with him. then it hits me as a deep melancholia that crawls around inside me. it is akin to the English Ivy that people allow to grow unchecked. it curls around everything, getting longer, reaching further and further, encroaching into places one might not want it to go. my melancholia is like ivy growing inside me and i have to cut it back. i have to be diligent though, or it will, i fear, take over and cover my brain and then i will end up like a saddened old mountain man alone in his shack, muttering to himself and his dogs.

a woman just called me. M. hey, M. if you’re reading this, it was great talking to you. you interrupted, thankfully, some pretty dark musings. {pssst. i told you i had a photo of your embroidery work here.} we had a lovely conversation and it gave me the opportunity to remember and share with her something i try to keep close to the forefront of my brain that the ivy had covered up today.

my Dragon lived every single day of his life to the fullest extent. he breathed deeply every breath he took. he ate and really enjoyed the sights, tastes, and smells of his food. he watched over me and loved walking with me, seeing what i took pictures of. he loved listening to me and encouraged me to talk. oh, and he loved my laugh. he loved touching me, touching the wet sand to pull out shells and sand dollars. he loved petting the dogs. he loved helping me cull and work with our plants. and when we cuddle together to watch television or read, his fingers would stray into my hair, and he would finger comb it without even realizing it.

i am his wife and i should do no less. how a man like that could love a woman like me is beyond me but i am not going to look a gift horse in the mouth now. however i can with my limited means, i will live every day of the rest of my time here. i will work for, grab at, and beg for chances to live. he always liked that saying, “slide into home with a wealth of really great stories.” so i am going to collect all the stories of my life so that when i slide into “home” in a great cloud of dust and little rocks slinging about, i will have the most wonderful stories to tell him. he will pull me into his lap to hold me while i tell him all the things i did and wrote about and took pictures of. and when i feel his fingers absentmindedly combing my hair, i will finally feel at home. i am back with my Dragon again. it is finally going to be all right.

Bunny and Dragon snuggle up for SyFy Saturday night, the most terrifying night on television, we hope.