Parent Penguin

 Ceramic parent Penguin and baby made by my husband.

How does he capture that expression...feed me, love me, don't leave me..

Thistle down.

This morning I cried for my mother, curled like a baby on a mattress on a wooden floor, by an open window, the gentle hands of a sweet wise woman stroking my hair, rubbing my shoulder. She knows  how grief and ancient, inherited grief get locked and knotted in your body if you don't let them go.

I don't want to go there, I say. There's so much of it... it's a bottomless pit.

Well, it's just like taking a shower, she says. When you've had enough you get out and you feel cleaner afterwards.  Then you can have another one later.

So I don't have to drown in the ocean of all this loss - just keep taking showers for my emotions. And kicking my legs and dancing more often....

 And I will, even though it feels as hard as breaking though rock with fingernails, I'm afraid that if I keep holding on like I am doing now, pushing through each day with an iron fist around my heart, I could do myself some damage. Get ill. And I know I must not.

Who will be the Penguin for my husband then...