On Living Authentically

Six Months Today

A café is my solace on a wintry Autumn day,
I look out through the window,
Thick clouds, grey and white, fill the sky.
The leaves are falling from the trees like tears,
I think they know my grief.
They swirl endlessly in the wind, unable to rest, not knowing where to land.
I think they know my confused thoughts, my perplexed emotions, my longing to find peace,
but finding only turmoil.

Winter will soon follow Autumn.
Will my days become even colder and darker?
My nights longer and blacker too?
Spring and Summer seem a long way off,
Across a gulf I don’t want to cross.

I look up from this page and out the window again,
Amid the thick heavy clouds is a patch of bright blue,
And a long flurry of clouds are glowing silvery white.
Signs of hope, they lift my spirit.

Grief will have its seasons,
As inevitable as the seasons of the year,
And as essential too.
Autumn and Winter bring the painful gift of discovering and accepting what is lost,
Spring is full of hope of a new life emerging in its abundance,
Summer will be rich and green again,
And the trees will have new leaves.

The years will roll on, and the seasons too.
Summer will have its storms and cloudy days,
But Winter will have days of bright, sunny skies,
As grief and healing continue hand in hand.

Next Autumn I’m sure the leaves will fall again,
Not only as tears of grief this time,
But as dancers celebrating joyful memories,
Of a loved one and our years together.

Ian James
29th April 2015

Sometimes It’s Just Hard

A holiday exploring rugged coastline and climbing mountain peaks… spending time with family with the excitement of a new grandchild coming… freedom from the tasks and commitments of everyday life… these times are refreshing, life-giving times…  essential as I adjust to a new life.

But coming home can be tough… stepping through the doorway into a house full of memories of is not easy… each room I enter has so many reminders of Rosie… her personal belongings, decades of life lived together raising children. The lounge room and the bungalow, Rosie’s special places, especially hold deep imprints of her.

All these things remind me that she is no longer here… I feel a deep emptiness… grief.

And there are no easy answers… sometimes it’s just hard.