Over the past few year, there have been women that I know, often through my blog, whose husbands have died.
I have heard bits and pieces of their stories. And I find myself remembering the things they say. Almost as if they are giving me advice. Thinking that one day I will most likely be experiencing what they are. Thinking that I can learn from them.
Jon is 17 years older than I am and we both acknowledge that he will probably die before I do.
These women I have known speak about companionship lost. But that if there was love, it doesn’t die. I see in their stories the beauty of death, along with the pain and sadness. And eventually, how they move on in their lives.
Today, as I worked in my studio, I thought that each of these women, are my mothers. Archetypal mothers, wise women who are sharing with me a way to experience death that either I had not seen before or affirming my own ideas and feelings.
Many of these women I wouldn’t know if not for my art and my blog.
And although I will never even meet most of them, they have become a part of my community. And knowing they are there, that we can connect over art and life and death, makes me feel like I’m a part of something bigger.
It also makes me feel less alone.
❤️
Maria, do you have a plan B for when you are alone on that farm? what a daunting life that is, even with both of you there…How could you handle it alone? or even want to? not my business, but I certainly would want a plan B.
I’m have lots of thoughts and ideas about my future Remi. But will only know what I will do when it happens.
I am so glad for this community for you Maria. Lovely souls surrounding a special person. Take care.
Maria are you selling this potholder?
It is already spoken for Valerie, but thanks for asking.
Maria,
Your reflections touch me. My partner is 9 years older than I am, and we both admit it is likely I would go first.
So I, too, feel there will be sadness and grief and, hopefully, moving on.
Val
I believe it is so good to think and talk about it Val. Thanks for your thoughts.
THEN Amitra spoke, saying, We would ask now of Death. And he said: You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto
the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one. In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond; And life seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring. Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity. Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour. Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king? Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling? For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered? Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance. -from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran
Thank you Richard, it’s a long time since I read that.
Although Hermann is still with me, but I fear the day that he will no longer be with me. Hermann is 11 years older than I am and at 92 (almost) he is failing. He has dementia and is unsteady in walking. No longer helpful in the house, he sits and stares a lot.
When we sit together at night, he still likes to hold my hand, and I see the old Hermann.
Wishing you grace in your future.
Oh Uta, you made me cry. I can just picture the two of you holding hands. And you tell the truth of it without complaint. I hope to be able to do the same. Sending love and light to you both.
I love this Maria. My mother passed away a month ago. I loved her very much, she lived with my husband and I the last 3 years of her life. It was hard at times but now I see the small things that annoyed me are now the things that make me smile and remember her with a grateful heart. I love that these women who you are connected with through your art and blog are your mothers, teaching you and guiding you as you contemplate what the universe has in store for you in the future.
I’m sorry to hear about your mother Terri, but it’s so nice that you can look back and feel good about the time you had with her. I do take a little from everyone of the women who tell me their stories and form something of my own from it.:)
Your blog and connecting with you through it and your art and the animals has made me feel less alone at times. I’m grateful.
I am very happy to hear that it works both ways Barb.