Dear Son,

It is Saturday and I am exhausted. Your dad is out trimming bushes.  You know it is his therapy to work in the yard.

The workshop went well. I had fifteen students.  Some I have known for a while but most were new to me.  Talented group and so very very receptive.  I did not talk about you.  In years past I would have.  My extreme pride in you and your sister always made me want to share the anecdotes concerning our interactions together.

That in some ways made this workshop a test.  I shy away from places where I will be in contact with new people for any length of time because the subject of family comes up and I am never sure what to share.  There were times when people said things in passing that I decided to ignore or gloss over.  I choose not to join in some conversation because I did not want it to lead where I did not want to go.

There were a few folks there that know me fairly well.  They helped me to be comfortable and I really need to find a way to thank them adequately.  They felt like a safety net.  In the group of new people there were a couple that have now quickly become an “old” friend.  That is good too.  So in every way this workshop was profitable.  For my students, I hope it made them want to go home and paint, for me, it has been another hurdle to cross.

On Wednesday coming home I felt an awful  grief attack coming on.  I had been so busy for a couple of days preparing for this physically and mentally that I finally broke down in the car going home.   I felt such anger that you were not available for me to talk to.  I felt angry that I had been so occupied and diverted from my grief and now it washed back over in such force.  I yelled at you when I got home.  The poor dogs cowered in the den.  Finally Ebby approached me cautiously and climbed in to my lap.  She is so good at being a comforter.

I wanted to break something.

I wanted to scream till I lost my voice.

I didn’t.  I calmed down.

Yet every day I drove home and tears streamed down my face and I though about what I wanted to tell you about the day.  I want so badly to talk with you.

This particular outlet is really inadequate.   It is frustrating and feels so lopsided.

Am I just becoming too comfortable in my every day grief?  When I am home by myself working in the studio I can let the thoughts come and go.  Grief is here with me , stirred up in my day.  Out there, in the busy world other people and things claim you and your attention.  If you feel a twinge you push it back to think about later.  Then when everything calms down it hits like a wave.

I enjoyed the workshop.  I enjoyed the creative forces at work – the spirit of the effort.   I think to most people there who knew me I appeared to be as I have always been.  I think that is okay.

I think that you would expect that of me.

I am really tired.  It is going to be one of those days.   And since I have learned the hard way that there is no guarantee of a tomorrow, I will just take this one as it comes.     I love and miss you.  We all love and miss you.

Love forever,

Mom