Forget-me-not and Yes, its hard and it hurts

 One early morning last week - a neighbour's pussy cat sunning herself by my front gate...

underneath the branches of the hawthorn...

weighed down with heavenly scented bridal blossom.

This morning.

From a distance I think I have mistaken the location of Robin's grave because I glimpse a froth of tiny blue flowers covering the mound of Budleigh pebbles under the cross.

When I come closer I see it is a spreading forget-me-not plant....which wasn't there last time I visited.

It has appeared  - self seeded - like magic - out of nowhere.

 I have come with  offerings from the garden - branches of white may blossom, mauve lilac, starry wild garlic flowers( because he loved them) tiny blue forget-me-not stems and deep yellow and orange  heads of calendula. 

I cut the long grass around the pebbles with scissors and clear away the dead grass cuttings and add several more Budleigh pebbles to the pile....

and sit for a long time on the grave.... thinking about Robin.... feeling the miracle, the symbolism of the forget-me-nots....feeling him close behind me.   

My garden is full of forget-me-nots -  in the borders, in the lawn, in the patio pots - I've always loved them and now every time I see their delicate perfect blueness they connect me to Robin in a way they didn't before - another kind of magic.

And it's true that I don't always think of him - long periods when I don't....and I'm learning that isn't the same as forgetting him...but I still don't know how to live well without him. The last two days I've been so bereft, untethered in the fabric and routine of my life, not sure what to hold onto ...what to let go of.

But today,  talking to my therapist - tearful, trembling -  I make a new connection.

I live with many undigested traumas - not only Robin's death - from childhood till now...including moving house.

 Held in the cells of my body - re-remembered at the slightest touch.  Their hurt denied by me.

Alongside this raw fact I hold a sacred inherited belief... that I'm healthy and strong, I don't get ill, I need to carry on regardless of my circumstances,  never give up, never give in, especially to emotional pain - not for long anyway.

So now in my post-viral weakened state - I notice a weakness in my hands -  can't open bottles, lift a bag of compost, clip a 3 stranded chain to a hanging basket - my body is talking to me with this halting of my stamina, my energy. 

But what is weakening me even more is the stranglehold of my conditioning which gives me no space, no permission to feel the anguish of all that loss...not really and truly.

Just saying  to myself,

Yes, it's hard and it hurts...without shame, without guilt, without betraying my 'you can overcome anything' heritage....is the beginning of being kind to myself.... the  beginning of re -building another kind of strength. By being vulnerable first....and feeling the fear of that in all my cells. 

This baby robin looks totally vulnerable to me but seems to be totally trusting and fearless at the same time. 

I hope she survives in my garden...survives the sparrow hawk.