The more indifferent people are to politics, to the interest of others, the more obsessed they become with their own faces. The individualism of our time.

Immortality

On death

I should have written before now but I found it hard to put pen to paper and find the words. I don’t know whether you know but my mom died of cancer when I was 17. I think people think I will have some good advice, I wish I did. I wish I could make the pain go away and offer light at this terrible time. I wish I could write the typical ‘time will heal’ ‘it will get better’. It will but these words fall so flat and far from being an adequate response for you at this time. Death is the most incomprehensible thing to happen to us as human beings. I think it’s something that we can never truly understand or come to terms with. Time will take us further away from the rawness of it but the absence will always be there.

The absence can’t go away: your mum is so much a part of who you are and who you have become. And in this you should find comfort. She got to see you grow up and become the man you now are; she watched you follow your passions and develop them. She watched you enjoying life and I’m sure you spent many times together enjoying times and celebrations as a family. These moments and memories are priceless and will also never go away. This can bring us comfort.

I understand that she passed sooner than you had expected. The same happened with my mom and I felt so robbed that I didn’t get the long goodbye that cancer appears to offer so many families. Where was the time to do all the things we had wanted to do together, the time to say all the things we had never said? But there would never be enough time, there will never be a right time and death will never bring us a better outcome whenever it happens. We have to be strong and assure ourselves that the pure love shared between parent and child is unquestionably enjoyed and reciprocated. The love between a mother and child does not need putting into words because it just exists. You mom died embracing that love and I’m sure feeling lucky that she had enjoyed that love for so long and into adulthood. I hope one day this will bring you comfort.

I know you have such a large, amazing network of people there for you right now (a reflection of your warmth as a friend) but if you ever need an understanding ear; right now, in a few weeks, months, years, you can always write or call. Grief is an ongoing process and there is no cut off point for when we are unjustified to feel hurt and in need of another person’s understanding.

If you find it hard to share with others how you feel (I could never talk about my grief) write your thoughts down on paper. This is something I have begun to do recently and it really helps. Noone needs to read it but it helps in the process of comprehending what is happening and organizing your thoughts in such a confusing time. Just putting pen to paper and writing how you feel can be an unexpected release. It will take some time to feel comfortable doing this if you aren’t used to writing but stick at it or at least give it a try. Alternatively in nature, garden, take comfort from la madre tierra and the solace it can bring.  And hug Ramona, she is the source of so much love and joy. I miss her terribly.

I hope if this letter helps a little but if not I hope at least it has communicated that my thoughts are with you and that there is another person in a long line of others that wants to support and be there fore you should you need anything now or later on.

The Family Business

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2fIn8n9KEo&feature=youtu.be

Horse Chestnuts

A few things struck me this morning as I picked up the Horse Chestnut blocking my path to work. Gleaming in the sun and smooth as a polished oak table I could almost see my reflection in this discarded seed.

I realised autumn is approaching. If conkers have started to fall- the epitome of autumn in any child’s eyes- then we are certainly beginning a new season.

It dawned on me that I haven’t experienced an autumn in five years. I haven’t seen the leaves changing colours then shriveling into deep red sun dried tomatoes hung out to dry on branched lines like crisp starched underwear. I haven’t followed the leaves’ path falling effortlessly from branch to the ground like rocking cradles to create a blanket of protection against the looming frosts. I haven’t watched the nights roll in consuming days like the ivy insidiously taking over our garden. I haven’t observed a winter arrive knowing I can do nothing to stop it.

I try not to reminisce about my childhood, too much has changed, too much is now missing. Yet, in that split second when I spotted this golden gem, I was transported back to being the eight-year-old girl I must have once been. Back to a time when all the entertainment I could possibly want was wrapped up in a green covered shell. I relived that child-like wonder this morning, scrabbling to collect all the fallen treasures in my reach. I carried them in to the office between the creases of my arms and elbows like a first-time parent might carefully cradle a newborn child.

In preparation for the annual conker wars I would laboriously bore holes into these precious stones attempting to push through a string as if it were as simple as a needle and thread. How I avoided severing a finger in the process I still have no idea. I remembered the annual amnesia of childhood hope; forgetting my destiny was to loose in the first round every single year. Not even the nicest of boys would risk their reputations to give me a fighting chance.

I remembered my mum driving me after school in a hopeless search for the biggest, shiniest, strongest chestnuts: my key to fame and trophies. I remembered discovering not conkers but a stolen safe concealed under the branches of a Chestnut tree, evidence in a crime that I was too young to comprehend. What disappointment in hearing that these riches were not ours to keep but boy did we have a story the next day to tell to our friends!

Lastly, at the proud age of thirty when my confidence has finally started to wear in to fit the body with which I was blessed, it struck me that the Chestnut I found today reminded me so very much of something else reclaimed. Tucked neatly away into a padded bed like a solitary pea in a pod, unblemished by the sun’s rays, the weathering wind, the rain, and the hurt of human touch, it dazzles in the sunlight unearthed for the very first time. It is an interesting comparison, one I would not have made at eight years old. I decided tonight this allegory merited writing down.

The more I live, the more I want depth. Depth of familiarity, depth of purpose, depth of friendship, depth of understanding, depth of knowing. I want to tell stories with depth, texture, sadness, humor, triumph and defeat. There is a magic and a mystery in those depths that is utterly missing in superficial declarations, and in the best one-liners. Depth entails complexity. And we want things stripped down to their essence. But the real essence is in the details, not in the generalizations. And it entails investment. It entails grit. It entails hurt. But I don't want to run from it.

Pauline

http://www.ted.com/playlists/87/spoken_word_fireworks

The danger of silence

http://www.ted.com/talks/clint_smith_the_danger_of_silence