Moving Through This Change
‘How are you?’ people ask in tender concern. I say I’m in a weird space. Some, who don’t know me well, ask further.
‘Was she a confidante?’ I nod. ‘Is there someone else in your circle of acquaintances you could make a friend of?’
I stare. She repeats the question. I tell her I have good friends.
Or, ‘What will you do with yourself now?’ I laugh, and list my weekly schedule.
The ones who know me better just hug.
After the memorial service, some of us went back to her house. I never have to do this again, I thought, as we navigated the long, stony driveway, the landlord’s barking dogs running at our wheels. But I took several photos of her elderflower tree, in full new bloom.
The little butcher bird didn’t come knocking at her window, not once. I was glad to know he’d got my message and wouldn’t be desperately searching.
I collected the box the family were told must come to me: magical pieces she’d crafted – some incomplete, but all usable. I found written descriptions for most, not all.
Our jeweller friend handed me a ring she’d commissioned (supplying the crystals and her own design). ‘You should have it.’
Some items I can give to special people. Others?
‘An ancestor shrine,’ someone suggests. (She was younger in earthly years, this-lifetime years, but truly far more ancient.)
I begin to set it up. Strangely, this is a pleasure.
The big, glittery printed board of her business name: Esoteric Pure Magic by Letitia Lee. Two wands lacking written details. A rose quartz heart and rose quartz angel she gave me. A labradorite heart someone gave her, which she decorated. A single clap stick representing all the elements (where’s its partner?). Her personal copy of her own oracle cards. A cat statuette magicked as a familiar. I’ll add the ring, and her photo.
The last photo I took of her? (Enjoying our outing, smiling.) Or from earlier in our long friendship? I start remembering the healthy woman she was. The vigour, vitality, joy.
That last morning, despite exhaustion and pain, she told me everything I must do for my own wellbeing.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I will.’
Linked to Poets United's Interactive Moonlight Musings on The Positive Side of Change: 369 words without title.
I love that you created an ancestor shrine with her beautiful artistic creations. I also think you've handled the questions with a lot of grace and class. Blessings and peace to you my friend.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Rommy. I was dumbfounded by those questions, really. But I recognised the speakers' wish to be kind.
DeleteSuch a big change, her soul travelling into light, and you travelling this new path without her physical presence. I am worried for the butcher bird who might be wondering where she went.
ReplyDeleteNo, I did send him a telepathic message when I was at the house with family a few days before the service, helping to go through her things; when he tapped at the window as usual. After which, instead of continuing as he normally did, he flew off. And believe me, if he had not understood the message, he would definitely have been around on this second occasion too, but there was no sign of him. I don't know if he is sad, but at least he is not wondering.
DeleteP.s. i love the collection of items you arranged to honour and remember her.
ReplyDeleteI know why some people ask us if we are okay when we suffer a serious loss, but I never understand why they get how little the actual questions help. I recognized the stare you speak of, mine is usually accompanied by lots of blinking... even a raised eyebrow.
ReplyDeleteI love how you are approaching the whole situation, how you are celebrating her life by surrounding yourself with things and ritual that keep her alive, how you remember her by embracing her wisdom.
I think we wouldn't been such friends, Trish and I, if we had ever met. Still, I am very grateful to get to know her through you.
Auto-correct got ya! I know you mean you and Tish would've been friends. Yes, I see a lot of likenesses between you, not least the indomitable spirits.
DeleteAutocorrect needs some serious slapping!
Deletewow what a special friend who gives all her energy while in pain to make sure what you have to do for your welllbeing and leaves you some precious things
ReplyDeleteSpecial indeed! And yes, very giving.
DeleteOh Rosemary! *Hugs* This is incredibly evocative and I found I had tears forming by the time I finished reading. I resonate with being dumbfounded by the questions people ask ... it's as though they don't realize how little it helps and just leaves silence hanging in the air ... sigh .. I admire how you are handling the situation and focusing on things that pave the way to honor her memory. Sending love and prayers your way.
ReplyDeleteThank you, I feel the comfort of your love and prayers.
DeleteRespected Rosemary
ReplyDeleteA heartfelt touching moving excellent literary piece of work.Two concepts stand out , one is the art of companionship and its value in life and the other is the art of giving...by giving one keeps. You have felt the pain of loss and separation and beautifully shown how one can be patient and bear the moments with courage. The tree is a unique symbol well captured. Thank you.
And thank you to you, for this very thoughtful comment!
Delete"A single clap stick representing all the elements (where’s its partner?)" I have to admit it was this line in particular that got me. Like chopsticks, what do you do with just one? When it's usefulness comes from having a partner. And yet even alone, it is still a thing of beauty. From loss you have created something beautiful.
ReplyDeleteVery perceptive and understanding of you! I wasn't conscious, myself, when I wrote it, of what a powerful motif that is.
Delete(There are also four pairs, each representing one of the elements, but what became of the other half of this pair is a mystery.)
PS Though I have said, based on the colours she put on it, that it represents all the elements – a fifth set could, of course, also represent Spirit (the apex of the pentagram). Which makes your point all the more telling.
Delete