Thank you for your responses, thoughts and suggestions.
I'm okay. Really. Sometimes, it just hits you all over almost like the very first time again. Or am I the only one who occasionally experiences this?
Like Gypsy and many of you, I enjoy writing. And on mornings like this morning, I do so so descriptively that I imagine some of you wind up thinking, "Uh oh. Gardener's losing it."
Gardener isn't losing it. He's just still processing it, far less often, to be sure, but sometimes still just as intensely.
Even mornings like today, after the nostalgic wave of loss passes - and it does, relatively quickly - I simply...resume. Usually with a post-cathartic spring in my step, a simple "oh. well," or "it is what it is," or a muttered barb aimed at the absent x along the lines of, "your loss, toots!"
As always, I appreciate your rushing in with support. It must sound on occasion as though I need triage rather than support, but I don't. I guess when I journal and share what I feel, I really share what I feel! At that moment, at least. The alternative is to tone it down, to minimize it and that I can't do. I'm not being dramatic, just articulating it for me and to you. To exorcise it. And then get on with it.
Originally Posted By: clingingtohope
I realized this week that it's Saturdays that I dread...Another idea. You must have some kind of arboretum or nature preserve nearby that is looking for volunteers. Perhaps you could work at a place like this on the weekends.
Amen on the first comment, cth. Great idea on the second comment. There is one nearby, too. Thank you, cth.
Originally Posted By: flowmom
...everything that you would have shared with her is a painful reminder of your loss. Sometimes beauty hurts when we're in pain.
Amen, fm. It's as profoundly simple - and, thankfully, as fleeting - as that.
Originally Posted By: iwantittowork
let this question go.
Thank you, friend. I am. It's a process, though. And it's happening, despite the occasional backslide.
Gratefully,
Gardener
"My soul, be satisfied with flowers, With fruit, with weeds even; but gather them In the one garden you may call your own." Cyrano deBergerac