5th August 2012
This afternoon my husband brings rain-dropped flowers from the allotmemt - bunches of sweet peas - soft pastel pinks and mauves, gladioli stems the colour of butter, violet heads of buddleia and tangerine orange marigolds. On Friday his old school friend came to stay bringing a delicate spray of deep purple and red and magenta sweetpeas. And on the table already another vase - crocosmia, fuschia and geraniums from the garden of a dear friend. I love my kitchen dressed in floral colours - it makes me smile and remember the people who brought these gifts every time I walk in the room, chop an onion, turn on the tap, breathe in perfume.
Yesterday we stood in the rain and dressed my parents’ grave with a bunch of roses the colour of African sunsets.
Today I started a book called The Ten Things to Do When Your Life Falls Apart by Daphne Rose Kingma. In the first chapter she says it’s OK to cry a lot - that tears are healing. It’s not a mistake - it’s a necessity and that tears are the medicine of grieving - the cure for the pain of loss. Because afterwards, after the crying there’s a clean space for something new to flow in. Hope maybe.
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