I was writing a book. Words flew and flowed, ideas, characters, and plots. But then my world came to an end and I suffered a GREAT loss. For a long time I felt like I would mourn forever. That I would never stop crying or hurting, it hurt worse than anything I’ve known. When I got the news that he was in a comma my world came to an end, I knew that he wasn’t going to make it and unfortunately I was right. A week later my brother was taken off life support and his body died along with the brain that had died a week before.
I can only talk to my family and my mother about this. Everyone else say the wrong things. I can’t stand to hear them talk about it, to try to console me. When someone dies everyone should shut the fk up! I need the sympathy and support but in as few of words as possible. Just hug me. Tell me you love me. Say, ‘I’m so sorry.’ then shut up. This sounds so awful but that is how I feel. Each word wounds if it’s the wrong one or from the wrong person. I am so fragile that your breath could collapse me.
Art. I would have thought this a great time to write my pain out or paint. I’ve thought of it but haven’t wanted to. I don’t want to be in life when he is gone. I haven’t been able to think for the last few weeks. Even the simplest things that I never get wrong I couldn’t do. I think all the time, my mind never shuts up but since the first call I would sit for long moments with nothing in my head, just silence. I couldn’t think if I wanted to.
I started reading. I do it slowly and not every day. The book is about a mother who loses her little girl and per her mother’s advice she takes up knitting and joins a knitting circle. The repetitious movements of knitting some how get her out of her sorrow and gives her a break from pain. This book, The Knitting Circle, has inspired me to knit again. It does help, the repetition is soothing like rocking back and forth. I can’t write, I can’t paint, not today but for now I will knit. That will be my art.