Good Grief 110

A bit more anthropomorphism.
When I got up this morning I looked up and saw this break in the clouds.
It floored me.
It opened out and all I could see was this metaphorical vast hole, this opening in the universe that felt boundless and endless and all I could see filling it was the beautiful, cheerful, smiling face of my husband.
He was a pretty cheerful chappie.
I then switched on the radio and heard the news that proton beam therapy is being found to be less damaging than conventional radiotherapy. And I thought of my partner before, who had died during radiotherapy treatment. It always struck me when they tattooed him (bit like the 'Golden Shot', I always thought) that it was a dodgy business and after one of his 'doses' he suffered a massive rupture of the pulmonary artery. He was alone. With the benefit of hindsight we wouldn't have opted for treatment but it was the right choice at the time. Modern medicine does it's best. However, now I feel he should have stayed at home, where he was comfortable and with me with him. Instead he returned in a box. I poured him a whiskey, hoovered around him, chatted and read poetry until the time came to walk down to the church.
'Luckily' the second time round I was with my husband and I'm glad.
Does it make it easier? No, not really. Just different. Loss is loss is loss.

So after that I decided to go out on a little blip adventure.
Boy, was it windy.
Everything that could was clinging on to the land, holding on as best it could.
As was I.

As I walked down I saw my shadow cast against the trunk of a larch. Now I'm not a tree hugger, well, maybe I am, when no one's looking. I put my hand against its beautiful winter worn red body and then turned braced myself against the wind to take a photo of the view when, in a gust, a small branch poleaxed me in the left temple.
At first I was hurt. But then I thought perhaps it was responding. After all, it cannot get up and seek out what it wants it has to stay just where it is and draw in what it can. Perhaps this was a chance of some connection.
We held each other, branch and hand (extra).
At first the wind was strong and I held tight because the wind kept pulling branch away and I felt hurt again, or pushed, when it blew towards me and I went to resist.
In the end I relaxed.
For the first time, for so long, my body moved with another body.
I could feel the other body and go with it.
I remembered what it was like to live with another body - not to have to constantly move my body in the world alone and untouched, constantly having to self motivate, having to put one foot in front of the other, decide what pointless activity to engage with today. Of course, it is all utterly meaningless ... and utterly meaningful. It is what it is.
When I let go, I cried. I had to run and not look back.