current status: coping
I am feeling the weight/energy drain of clutter, too much Stuff, and unfinished tasks. (Overlaid and permeated with the fog of grief and sorrow.)
I suspect that if I can just find a way to begin again that it will be a good thing for me on many levels.
The existence of this blog is also a weight. This, too, is a neglected and unfinished project. I sometimes think of ending this blog. But I'm not ready to do that just yet.
My son Shaun came over a few weeks ago and put together all the bookshelves I bought the week Patrick died. I bought them to put up in his old room, which he had already moved from. If Shaun hadn't done this, I know that those shelves would still be sitting there, unassembled, boxed, propped against the wall. The room has been very starkly empty and raw all these weeks.
It will always and forever be "Patrick's old room," the room he grew up in. I stand there and close my eyes and see it as it was. I can still hear the sounds of his guitar playing, game playing, snoring.... And take a moment to hold my love for him, to be grateful he came to be our son.
It took me a little while start to use those shelves, to work in that room. I wind yarn in there and I worked on my first weaving in there last week. As I do those things, it seems to transform the energy in that room, soften the sadness somehow, fill the emptiness with a new creative energy and potential.
I believe Patrick approves....
I suspect that if I can just find a way to begin again that it will be a good thing for me on many levels.
The existence of this blog is also a weight. This, too, is a neglected and unfinished project. I sometimes think of ending this blog. But I'm not ready to do that just yet.
My son Shaun came over a few weeks ago and put together all the bookshelves I bought the week Patrick died. I bought them to put up in his old room, which he had already moved from. If Shaun hadn't done this, I know that those shelves would still be sitting there, unassembled, boxed, propped against the wall. The room has been very starkly empty and raw all these weeks.
It will always and forever be "Patrick's old room," the room he grew up in. I stand there and close my eyes and see it as it was. I can still hear the sounds of his guitar playing, game playing, snoring.... And take a moment to hold my love for him, to be grateful he came to be our son.
It took me a little while start to use those shelves, to work in that room. I wind yarn in there and I worked on my first weaving in there last week. As I do those things, it seems to transform the energy in that room, soften the sadness somehow, fill the emptiness with a new creative energy and potential.
I believe Patrick approves....
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