The Door Through My Grief
The Door Through My Grief masks enabled me to express what words could not after a violent death in my family. In the shock of that suicide, I felt I would never recover. Painting my face as my heart, bruised and split in half helped start the long healing process.
She says:
“Grief, Fresh
I come to everyone sooner or later. I am the dreaded late night phone call, the waiting room, stricken faces, a policeman at the door, hospital smell of alcohol, an empty bassinet, a wheelchair, a walker. I am sleepless nights, a hole at the table, a hole in the bed, a hole in the heart, a hole in the universe.
Grief, Later
I live behind a veil, freezing like a Titanic survivor in an iceberg sea. I am numb, unavailable to myself and to others. Words are clouds of frozen breath. I do not remember who I am or was. Before.
Grief, Stage 3
Hell hath no fury like mine. I am a grizzly sow with wounded cub, a lioness, a mother rage. I want to slash and destroy, rip, shred. I want blood. I want justice. I want life as it was. Before.”
I come to everyone sooner or later. I am the dreaded late night phone call, the waiting room, stricken faces, a policeman at the door, hospital smell of alcohol, an empty bassinet, a wheelchair, a walker. I am sleepless nights, a hole at the table, a hole in the bed, a hole in the heart, a hole in the universe.
Grief, Later
I live behind a veil, freezing like a Titanic survivor in an iceberg sea. I am numb, unavailable to myself and to others. Words are clouds of frozen breath. I do not remember who I am or was. Before.
Grief, Stage 3
Hell hath no fury like mine. I am a grizzly sow with wounded cub, a lioness, a mother rage. I want to slash and destroy, rip, shred. I want blood. I want justice. I want life as it was. Before.”
