I finally started to take seriously the task of deconstructing my True Love's art hovel. The den of literature and art potential in which she spent most of her days until she was too sick to stay out of bed. It's hard taking these things apart, it makes you age, it makes your skin recede and turn to paper, almost as if to make it easier for your heart to simply fall away and pass through you to the ground, or that a gust of wind could strike and blow you to dust. It's so hard to find all the little bits of jewelry in progress, the carefully chosen palette of colored pens and pencils, hand made sales tags which say "Made by Sara" with her website address on them and not gasp for breath each time.
The pain reminds me of caring for my sweetie during her last days. As that seemed a sacred trust, a painful walk across shards of glass which in some ways I could have easily passed on to others, but could not bear the guilt now if I had, nor could I bear the loss if I had missed one more moment of her consciousness because I had squirreled her away in some nursing home. It would have been easier, much much easier but by no means better. So in this same way I walk across glass as I sort little beads, ten types of pearls, five types of jasper and goodness knows how many types of rose quarts into freshly bought sorting trays. Her sister Lynn is so kind and generous. I know she is just a phone call and a plane flight away and she would come if I asked, but at the same time I know this is my place, my cross and to share it's weight would only add to the guilt I already feel for surviving and oh so many other things.
When I'm done with this step, I must progress to the art paper, the coloring and the photographs. I don't know how I'm ever going to make it through. Really, I don't.
It is extremely difficult to sort the beloved one's belongings but it is part of the healing process. Soldier on and rest when you need to.
Kepp what you are comfortable with and do as Sara would want you to do with the rest. There is no time limit for the process.
I know as I did it 13 years ago and still have and use the tools etc. I am gratefull to have all the stuff left for me.
My heart goes out to you but be assured you did a good job.
Gramma pat
Posted by: Patricia Ricci | May 17, 2009 at 09:24 PM
Maybe her sister Lynn is not just offering help for you, but for her. Maybe she needs tactile proof of her sisters love and her palpable and lasting talents. Maybe letting her in to sort, allot, disperse and dispense will help both of you.
I am sorry for your loss.
Posted by: Gayle | May 18, 2009 at 11:52 PM
Kind thoughts, Gayle. No need for tactile proof --- everything she touched just is a sad, very sad reminder of a life lost way too soon. Memories of Sara at 2 days old to 46 years old --- Pictures at an Exhibition. My baby sister and her immense range of interests. Only sorrow --- only putting one foot in front of the other because really, that's all one can do, right?
Posted by: Lynn Ballou | May 22, 2009 at 01:10 AM
I have several pieces of Sara's jewelry and I think of her every time I wear them. I particularly love a pair of dangly earrings made from chunks of lava and silver spirals. I wear them whenever I have to face something hard or when I have to be a little brave (which feels often, these days). I love the way they look, their weight, and that they were made from something so special. I always think about Sara whenever I wear them - the part of Sara that I knew, anyway - I feel like there is a part of her hanging around and I like that.
There are lots of little bits of Sara everywhere. She touched more people than any of us will ever know.
Thinking of you lots,
L.
Posted by: laurie | May 22, 2009 at 09:34 PM
Laurie --- That's so cool, and that would make Sara SO happy! I feel the same way about the pieces she made for me. It's like having her hanging around my neck, except in a really GOOD way, everytime I wear one of her amazing necklaces!
Posted by: Lynn | May 31, 2009 at 08:10 PM