I have been nestled inside the winter for months, it seems. It has been so cold and dark. Even today, at the end of April, spring struggles to gain a grip, the wind and rain overtaking its warm and promising breezes, painting the hilltops white, again, pouring pellets of icy hail onto the ground. This weekend, there are predictions of frost.
tricia bratton
Count on This
I have outlasted all desire, My dreams and I have grown apart; My grief alone is left entire, The gleamings of an empty heart. From Grief Alone Is Left Entire, by Alexander PushkinThe poem from which the excerpt, above, was taken, could be considered rather bleak. The writer speaks of his grief being the only thing he can count on in this world.
Disappeared
In this week of sunshine and gentle breezes and flowers blooming, I have felt a subtle shift in my grief. The warm weather and sprouting leaves have helped me to approach my days with hope. I have cried less often and smiled more. I have begun to consider how I might live this new life without him. I have had hours and days of calm and…
To Everything, There is a Season
Spring has sprung in Northern England, and everywhere life is blooming. Magnolia trees burst with pink and white flowers, their sweet scent wafting along with the evening winds. Baby lambs, their legs still wobbly, hover near their mothers’ stomachs, with tender young faces that seem to be smiling. Birdsong fills the air, the cacophony so loud at…
By The Sea, On My Own
It is a glorious spring day on the northern coast of England, and I am seated on a bench overlooking the sea, in a village called Robin Hood’s Bay. It is an ancient settlement, with remains found that date back 3000 years, and first mentioned by a topographer of Henry the VIII in 1536.Yesterday I walked to this village from Whitby, where I am…
Ashes to Ashes
Saturday, I carried the remnants of my husband’s body from our bedroom to the summit of Monks Road, in Glossop, the spot he had chosen as his final resting place. It was one of the hardest things I have had to do, in this 10 month journey since his death. His family and I scheduled this date months ago. Even then, I was reluctant to consider…
Someone’s Missing
Saturday, I attended a family ‘do’–a term used in England to denote a celebration, or important event. This was a 40th birthday party for one of Stan’s nieces, held at a Greek restaurant, with over 60 people, most of them relatives of Stan’s. Two of his sisters were there, as were two of his children. The room was filled with conversation and…
Climbing Off the Wheel
“Walk around feeling like a leaf. Know you could tumble at any second. Then decide what to do with your time.” From “The Art of Disappearing” by Naomi Shihab Nye In my Buddhist study group, this week, we are reflecting on the fact of impermanence, specifically, these things: we are all going to die, and none of us knows when that will happen.
Tender Touch
I awakened last night, and reached for my husband in the dark, only to find that now familiar, empty space, instead. And I remembered how I would drape my leg over his, at night, and press my stomach against his back. Sometimes, he would stir, slightly, and tell me to take my leg off of him. He said my legs were too heavy. He referred to them as…
Turning Back the Clock
I saw a grief post, recently, that resonated with me. It said “I wish I could turn back the clock: I’d find you sooner and love you longer.”When I read about other widows or widowers who lived with their spouses for decades, before they died, I feel sad for them. I think it must be so difficult to lose a partner with whom one has shared an entire…
Living Perpetually in Fear
I have built my entire life around the fear of loss. I’ve had a string of losses, in my adult life, perhaps more than most. Each loss dug deeper wounds into my heart. Each loss wove more fear into the sorrow I felt. Each loss added layers of protection to my spirit. I came to England in a flight from grief, after the loss of my sister and my…
There are Places I Remember
The poem says that April is the cruellest month, but I think it might be February. In England, February is filled with grey days and clouds. We search in vain for spots of sun on the horizon. We witness the lengthening moments of daylight and cling desperately to the vague promise of spring. For widows, February brings Valentines Day, a…