Spiritual Sisters
Spiritual Healing Serene Salad
Spiritual Voices Creativity Bakery
- Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that
without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure. --Henri Nouwen
Redecorating and Trips to the Grief Dump
I up and decided to accessorize my great room in anticipation of the delivery of a new brown leather couch. Not having a knack for assembling stuff called accessories, I dropped into a shop after I got my annual eye exam. Soon I was chatting amiably with a woman who worked there. I told her what I had in mind and she trotted around the store gathering goodies. She would say, “What do you think about this?” and usually the answer was, “I like it,” because she had something I sometimes lack...good taste.
After an hour or so, I made some decisions and asked if she would drop by my house after work and see how the things I brought home looked. Turns out this was her first day of work, and yes, she would be delighted.
Sure enough, several hours later she knocked on the door. We had fun....her scurrying around arranging things and asking, “Do you like this?” and me just being the passive watcher. I felt almost like a kid.
Today my son drove me back over there. She wanted both of us to look at a piece she thought we might like to hang over the fireplace. We weren’t there long because I had run slap out of energetic enthusiasm the day before. Suddenly the rumblings and stirrings of grief were being picked up. Every pleasure arouses a pain, and this time it was unmistakeable....I was doing this for my self alone. It was my room where I lived with the TV and my books and thoughts and silences. Lordy, lordy.
I seldom have anyone over because I need to get out of the house, not stay in it a minute longer. So I prefer to meet someone for the occasional lunch instead of making them a tuna fish sandwich. I am finished with those years. Likewise cleaning house for guests. I have someone come in every two weeks to keep things semi-tidy. But the rumblings from the grief dump were unmistakeable.
Here is what they said....speaking to me like a dolphin would communicate to another of its species....
It’s awfully sad decorating for one. That gorgeous candle on the table came from Sausalito. I looked at its jewel light winking golden at me, as if to say, “And I still love you. And I will always love you...and I will see you again.” I looked across the room at the chair we bought together. Now it’s stool holds my library books. There is that piece of pottery we found outside of La Jolla. The decorator moved it to the hearth and nestled it among some other friendly houseplants. I feel like a houseplant myself. When will I venture to leave the grief dump....when will my heart send me in search of something more substantial than a coral throw with fringes.
The answer to this is that it truly doesn’t matter. What matters is that I say these words, let them dance across my broken heart and cast shadows like that candle. It is so okay to break and to speak of breaking. If not, there is no God and no reason to go on.
© 2007 Vicki Woodyard