I lost my voice. No talking for several days, shouting to create a whisper. Just as well. I haven’t had much to say lately. No words, at least. Lots of feelings. None that I can really describe. Turns out, a week or so of silence is just what I needed. There is no pressure to communicate when you physically cannot. The cold that caused my vocal cords to freeze was unpleasant, but again, it was just what I needed. Days to sleep. Hibernate. Like a bear. Stay in my cave and rest.
My voice has returned now, but not my words. The silence in my heart is deafening. Writer’s block doesn’t really describe it. It is more than that. It is a loss of articulation. An empty dictionary. A blank journal. Pages and pages of emptiness. No way to fill it up. No way to change the hole in my soul.
I am finding ways to express without words. Back to pottery this week. Time at the wheel…centering…or trying to. A small spark was ignited. The missing hope, maybe? Time will tell, if it flames up or snuffs out. Other ways to try to go forward. A bit of organizing. A new recipe. Car repairs. The mundane stuff of life. Step. Step. Step. Little movements. Going through the routine, trying to find my way.
Today, is a snow day. First one in years. If Mom and Dad have any pull at all, I believe they sent us the snow. Snow was one of their favorite things. They are the ones who taught us to run to the snow, rather than away from it. Southern snowbird style. Get out in it. Play. Always, play. Measure it. Take pictures of it. Relish time in the snow, because around here, it is fleeting. There’s a lesson in that I think.
Today, I am not playing. I am remembering. Watching from my window. The blanket is thickening on the bushes. The trees are catching snow in their bows. It is quiet. Almost silent, except for the tender touching to the ground of millions of flakes…and my heart’s tears. Such a mix of emotion. No escaping grief. So, I am leaning in. Or trying to.
There is a quiet beauty here, I think. If I can find my way to see it and say it, past all the lovely snow memories and into the starkness of winter. The hole in my soul is still eating up all the words, even those I am trying to find at this very moment. So, instead of writing, I am watching. The snow is beautiful. It is sucking up the sound. I am feeling…where words do not exist. I am wintering. If you need me, I will be in my cave, resting. Waiting for the words to return. And watching the snow fall.
Michelle's Mosaic 
From the front porch of my cave, I sat well-bundled and with a comforter, in Ted’s white wicker rocker, from which he loved to watch people going by and receiving visits, especially from children. So I took photos and videos of our neighborhood children sledding. – A neighbor cleared my driveway with a snow shovel. Another neighbor helped me move something on the back porch. Another neighbor brought homemade cream-of-tomato soup. MY CUP RUNNETH OVER. – luv, mary
We cave dwellers have to stick together! Glad for your pictures of the children.
Loss of someone we love so deeply creates a hole in our soul so deep that it truly sucks up all our words. After the death of my oldest son, Justin, I could articulate very little. There were just no words, barely any cohesive thoughts. I formed the mantra “just breathe” in my mind and found myself repeating it over and over. If I could just maintain that one thought I could somehow function in the world of the living. The words very slowly returned to my brain, to my voice as I began to navigate the “new normal” that was to be my life. Ten years later in the moments when the pain and the grief overtake me the words “just breathe ” come back to me and I can settle. Your words, your voice will return when your soul is ready. Love, Cindy
Thank you Cindy. Breathe as long been a go to for me in tough times. I guess I needed the reminder to pick it back up this year. 🙂
I found solace in different words. I found peace in telling their stories in memoir and doing so discovered myself again. First the ancient stories and the beginnings of their lives then to my journey alongside and finally my catharsis you might say. Of having been there the whole time and how lucky I was. And am. Tim B.
Tim, even in my grief I recognize how blessed I have been. Not everyone has such love to grieve. So it is a blessing…to walk through and with.
Michelle, This was beautiful. The pictures of your Mom were so peaceful. As I was reading, I was also thinking of my Mom and reminiscing when it would snow. Mom would love to walk and play in the snow as much as we would. As the years passed, when she couldn’t get out she always made sure to have a warm fire going and a big delicious cup of hot chocolate ready!! During the snow on Friday we remembered those beautiful memories. Tears of her not being with us would start. My precious son made sure that we had our time together walking in the snow together. He perfected her recipe for hot chocolate that he made. We enjoyed our time and shared memories of time passed. God sent this soft white snow to enjoy and remember our times together now and our memories over the years. I’m so very thankful to have had this time with my son. Thank you so very much for sharing and I pray that love and peace will surround you now. Love and always prayers, Robin
Robin Callahan Chestatee Academy Media Clerk robin.callahan@hallco.orgrobin.callahan@hallco.org Children are truly a blessing.
Robin, what an up and down journey grief is. I am glad your son is looking out for you, as my kids are looking out for me. A silver lining. 🙂