I thought maybe my mind would freeze, as it did last autumn when we learned that Dad was ill. I couldn't write at all, not until he'd had the operation and it seemed that he'd been saved.
But no. Images and feelings I thought I could never get over as I stepped out of the hospital room that night, are filtering down through layers of words and tellings, settling in comforting drifts, where, if rain came, seeds might grow.
Life is beautiful even when it is sad, minds are beautiful also when they grieve, and stories are like stained glass windows, made of broken pieces, but brought together to paint some of that beauty onto the world.
Next week I'm picking my shards off the stone floor, and holding them up against the light. I think there might be some lovely colours waiting to be illuminated.
3 comments:
This is a very, very beautiful piece of writing, and very poignant. My heart goes out to you.
Thank you, sweet. You must think you're my only reader!
But I think the others who read this are also a little stunned with what's happened, so they probably don't know what to say. Grieving loudly and poetically is not for everyone.
Or if not, then I'm fine with you :)
Hei Tone,
jeg leser også bloggen din, for du skriver så fint. Og stykkene om faren din er intet unntak, trist men allikevel nydelig. Jeg kjenner jo ikke Line eller deg så godt, men jeg skjønner at dere har det leit og sender dere en stor klem uansett.
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