I can't type the words. That makes it hard to say what I want to get off my chest.
I would like to be able to write about knitting, spinning, gardening, the doings of small children and the other day-to-day niceties that I am habituated to writing about in this blog. I can't seem to write about those things - as much as they bring me comfort in tough times - because I am weighed down by grief. I really don't want to write about grief.
So instead, I have been saying nothing.
Many weeks of nothing.
Losing my Dad to cancer was by far the greatest loss that I have ever experienced. And even as I say that, I know it was the first of many, because a life that is full of love will inevitably have many painful losses. That knowledge is like a lead weight around my neck.
It's been 6 weeks and just typing these words is pretty crushing. So, I think that this is all that I will say about it.
Because I want to get back to writing about fiber and color and fresh peas from the garden, posting designs and sharing random enthusiasms. I want those things to seem like they matter again.
I don't want to fool myself that writing about knitting again is getting back to normal. There won't be a back to normal. This is normal now.
A friend shared this graphic with me. It represents grief as experienced over time.
My little container is a bit overwhelmed right now. There is only a tiny, tiny bit of room for happiness, or fun, or for anything much really. I hope that this graphic is right, that I will continue to grow enough - even with this big dark hole inside me - that there will be lots of room again for the small joys.
