Catching the Fog in Your Hands

~ humoringthegoddess

Writing about pain, about loss, is a tricky thing.

It’s overwhelming, it’s cathartic, its like trying to catch the fog in your hands.

It’s writing everything down in a journal, along with trying to be cryptic. All or nothing. Mind your own business and here’s everything. It’s talking and shouting and whispering at the same time. Finding a comfortable middle ground is nearly impossible.

I don’t really want to go into detail, for I don’t want outpouring of sympathy. There are plenty of blogs out there that specialize in super emoting. This isn’t one.

I’d rather try and catch the fog.

My life at Humoring the Goddess and Sunday Evening Art Gallery will get me through the loss of my son last week. Nothing changes, nothing takes the place, nothing ever fills up the balloon that carries my dreams and future.

But it’s a start.

Keep creating, keep loving. Take the time to say “I Love You” and make it a habit. 

I did. And now am so glad that I did.

 

 

 

Published by humoringthegoddess

I am a writer of fantasy fiction that often surrounds middle-aged women. I am a married mother of two and granny to three, a BoHo Chic kinda gal. I am recently retired and busier than when I worked 9-5. But writing and blogging is my main game.

29 thoughts on “Catching the Fog in Your Hands”

  4. I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child as a parent, but as a sibling, I can tell you, it’s the most difficult thing ever. Today is my brother’s birthday. He would have been 52 years old. Cherish your memories as I do mine. I send you hugs in your time of grief and sadness.

    Like

  6. And just the knowledge that you cannot change what happened, no matter how many tears and screams and pain you experience, helps you deal with what IS. Every day. And be there for others that need you. There will be time in the future where we’ll all be together again. Just not now.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. I know what you mean about sharing tragedy with others, especially online.
    Many years ago, my nephew died at age 16, in a skiing accident, right before Christmas. As I went to a Christmas Eve service, my eyes were opened to the fact that so many others there had surely gone through loss, and were carrying on with that weight. I felt sorry that I had been so oblivious before, but comforted knowing there were many others in the same situation.

    Like

  10. I hesitated to speak of my personal tragedy online. It looks like I’m looking for attention or followers or something hollow. But I knew… I just KNEW… there were a few out there that truly would understand. Would feel. And would try to keep love and creativity in the world despite its faults. You are one of them. I so appreciate your understanding.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. One often thinks of “if only” when dealing with grief. Especially if its a sudden, violent passing. I imagine the pain will always be there. And the tears. But those pinpoints of light you mention give me hope for something more than just life in this world. No one should lose their child, but that is sometimes just the way of the world. Bless you and thank you for being there for me.

    Like

  18. I’m afraid the outpouring will happen anyway. Bathe in it, eat it for breakfast, snuggle up in it and feel its warmth spreading through your weary heart, a balm to soothe and comfort in your time of darkness. My love goes out to you. I have lost many and know a little of what you are going through but your pain will be your own and you will find ways to heal that will be your own. Search the darkness for the tiny points of light that glow when you least expect it. I feel my heart aching for you. Find your way to the eye of the hurricane where there can be moments of rest. Peace and love to you.

    Like

  19. It seems to be the nature of humans to grasp onto daily rituals in times of extreme emotional pain. May you find a little space from your grief in yours.

    Like

  22. Our writings are personally very therapeutic for us dear Claudia … I call my writing desk, “my stable table” … It quietly watches blabber away, does’t complain when I cry, and happily takes no notice of my ranting and raving … ((Hugs)) and a stable table hug from desk here in Geelong .. 💕

    Like

  25. Through your earthshattering loss, we are reminded to say I love you, for another chance may not come. 🙏🏻 You are a giving, strong, and beautiful person. I lost my father three years ago, today. Losing him was a great motivator for starting my blog and for the writing journey that followed. I will always miss him but writing and creating helped me move through my grief and find peace. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  28. My son has been gone for 22 years and it seems like yesterday when we were laughing together. Time might dull the pain a tiny bit, but it doesn’t do anything else. I am so very sorry for you terrible loss.

    Like

Share Your Thoughts!