The things that I tell, the stories I write, the life I now live, are through what my heart perceives, what my ears hear, what my eyes see, what my soul knows. Part of my telling is from the hearts of others who grieve. Pieces of their lives are woven into the story of my life because we have a bond, a bond of sorrow.
Sweetly haunting I ring through the night catching rustling palms of a low hung Sago.
My melodious tune dances with a beating rhythm of the howling wind beckoning the sleepless to a hypnotic wake.
" Bend your ear, come listen to me," I sing in haste! For my music plays only to those desiring to hear.
I wonder if he looked back.
I wonder if he cried.
I wonder if he prolonged his stay with uncertainty.
I wonder did he wave goodbye.
I wonder if he smiled at the sight of his angels.
I wonder if his parents welcomed him to paradise.
I wonder if he knew how much I loved him.
I wonder if he knows how much I miss him.
Grief has many lessons. One of them is the opportunity to re-create ourselves from scratch because it has the power to take what we are, what we thought we were meant to be to a far away place. A place that we felt we would never be able to go.
We are stuck with a new reality, a reality that we don’t like.
What do you do when the happiest season of all doesn’t seem happy at all?
Eight months on and it's a brick wall I've hit
