I remember wool. In fact, as colder days approach, I am reminded of wool more and more. Soon enough I’ll be reaching for the jumper she knitted me a couple of years ago, and the beanie she crocheted for me a month before she died. Her love will continue to warm me, even in her …
Black holes are born from bright stars. When a star collapses, the singularity formed creates such a gravity that not even light can escape its pull. What sort of force would it take to overcome the gravity of my star collapsing? I am yet to experience that morning when I wake up without Suse’s absence …
I don’t want to forget anything. Even though memories burn, I don’t want to forget a thing. Not even the hard times or the regrettable times. In fact, especially not those times. Because these were the times that tested our relationship and proved its character. They were the times when we’d lean into and carry …
Saturday 7th July. It was the weekend. But that neither occurred to me at the time or mattered. It felt like the world’s end. I woke at 800am, after nearly 10 hours of sleep. I’m aware many people don’t enjoy that privilege in grief. It probably helped that I hadn’t slept for 40 hours prior …
My heart is an oil rig, pumping black blood in turbulent seas. As ice-cold waves pound its perimeter, its structural integrity is tested with a monotonous regularity. Before each fresh onslaught, there is a lull, a quiet. But that’s just the effect of the next wave gorging itself on the rig’s immediate surrounds. The waters …
As I look back on the last couple of weeks of writing, the question of why I write – why I want to write – presses in on me. Reflecting on this, I think there are a number of reasons. First, I write to remind myself of the love we shared. It both explains and …
Dearest Suse, Our world is entirely new, now. Well not entirely. It is and it isn’t. In so many respects, there’s a harsh continuity between the world you left and the one I didn’t. Your dresses still hang in the cupboard. Your knitting basket still sits by the lounge. Your face wash is still in …
“Soften into pain.” Soften into pain? I’m not sure I know what this means. Does it mean to imply I’ve not faced my pain? Because if it does, it’s wrong. I have, and I do. I face it every morning when I’m greeted by the hideous perfection of unruffled sheets…again. I face it every breakfast …
Do I live in grief, or does it live in me? That’s the question I’ve been wrestling with over the last few days. Admittedly, it may be a false dichotomy to draw–in all likelihood the response is “both-and” rather than “either-or”–but I feel it’s worth exploring the distinction. Because some times it feels like the …
Green. The colour of the shirt you were wearing the night we first met. The colour of the pastures we promised to help each other walk in. The colour of the freshness you forever brought to our home. The colour of the emerald in the first pair of earrings I bought you. The colour of …