I know how I want to begin this post, but it feels so stark, I’m not sure I can say it.
The thing is, I know the best place to start is always exactly where I am.
These last seven days, I begin to understand how someone dies of a broken heart. I always thought these words overdramatic. A diva phrase. Exaggeration. Hyperbole. I am not so sure after this year, the deaths of my Dad and cousin, and my Mom lost deep in Alzheimer’s.
I am not really in danger of dying of a broken heart, not in this moment or the next several, but my heart does feel broken.
Music eases the pain. Right now I am listening to John Boswell’s albums Trust and Garden In The Sky. Hugs, as many as possible, ease the pain. Old photographs and letting my heart move through the beloved memories attached to the images. Talking with my family and friends. Spending time in my studio, writing and drawing.
Yesterday I was unpacking the final box of household odds and ends from our move last Spring. At the bottom, rolled around a cardboard tube, was a 1988 Calgary Winter Olympics pennant. The pennant was a gift from my cousin. No coincidence it showed up yesterday.
In 1988 my husband, three-year-old son, and I spent a week of those Olympics in Calgary with my aunt and uncle. It felt like the entire city was partying. My cousin was working at the Olympic Village, and had her evenings free. We ate dinner together, with the television on to catch the sports events we hadn’t seen in person that day.
Months later we received the pennant in the mail. My cousin had purchased it at an auction.
Yes, beloved memories.
Today, the pennant is draped over a chair here in the studio. Later I will iron it, and hang it in the kitchen, the same way it hung in our previous home for twenty-nine years.
Memories and love fill the cracks in my heart.
In this post:
Musician John Boswell, pianist and composer. http://www.johnboswell.com/