Early lights

close up photo of stringlights

Photo by Natasha Fernandez on Pexels.com

I know it is still November and it is time to prepare for Thanksgiving, but this year I want to see lights.

It has been over four years since I lost my late-hubby, Otto Tune, and for the first time in four years colors came back into my life. To be fair when a person goes through grief, depression is part of the process. In my case I couldn’t see colors. It was like the world was shades of gray.

Oh I saw color– I just didn’t see it, if you can make the distinction. That first six months to a year I would look at the birds and wonder why they still sang. The world had ended.

This year I have been noticing how the sun casts pink and orange across the clouds as it says good night. I’ve noticed the different greens in the trees, bushes, and grasses.

It was the same with music. For the first few years every song was a song of loss. Now every song wraps me in sound. I now know depression intimately.

I tend toward anxiety than to depression.

So this year I want lights. The apartment building where I live decided to paint the outside of our building. This has been a great inconvenience because my patio furniture (I gave that to myself as a present last year) had to stay in my house. I promised myself that as soon as painting was done and the patio furniture was outside, then I would set up my tree.

I found a cheap tree on Ebay. When I pulled it out of the box I was a little disappointed. It did look scraggly. When I pulled the branches apart– wire and pvc– I began to see a much fuller tree. So this dark green artificial tree is in the living room where the patio furniture had been.

Even though it is more than two weeks from Thanksgiving, I am going to cover the tree in lights. Each light is a wish and a prayer. I hope that this year will be brighter than the last. I hope that I can pay my bills. I hope even more that I can be happy and maybe experience joy.

***

Now for a  little promotion

Hero of Corsindor 2018-2

Hero of Corsindor is now on Amazon kindle for pre-order.

In the kingdom of Corsindor, the prince is lost, the king is dead, and the queen is holding the reins of government against disloyal nobles. They want a puppet to consolidate their power over the land. The queen has only one ally, who is not human.

There are rumors that the borders have been closed. Plus the long-lost prince, who knows nothing of ruling, is returning. Corsindor is being attacked from within and without by nightstalkers.

Shira, a foundling, trained by the Ahrah, Corsindor’s neighbors, is sent find out the conditions in Corsindor. Warrior and child of another world – her job is to confront the demons and reduce the chaos in the world. Will she survive?

Will she be tempted to take it all?

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Repost from Jan 8, 2017: Love, loyalty, and grief

Last night when I should have been preparing for bed, I turned on the TV for some mindless noise and on the CW movie channel (33-2), Hachi, a story of an Akita and the man who found him at a train station. The reason I left the movie on as I dressed for bed, tucked in the dog, and played a game on my tablet was because it was a sweet slow story.

A young boy was asked to make a report about a hero in his life so he told about his grandfather’s dog, Hachi. There were no men trying to steal the dog. There were no car chases. In fact it was not my normal movie fare.

However, as I watched the man and dog interact through play. As I watched the dog escort him to the train station and then meet the professor when he got off the train, I started to get invested in the two of them. Yes, I waited for something to happen, but it was so quiet that I didn’t get the dramatic affect until later in the movie.

At this point, I am warning you– I will be revealing plot points–so if you don’t want to know, do not read further–

The professor dies. Hachi waits for him to come home for several years.

How can I explain the affect this part of the movie had on my emotions. The movie went from being a sweet story about a love between a man and his dog to a emotionally charged movie about a dog that waited for a man who would never come home again.

Of course I made the connection between this dog and my own circumstances. I lost a husband from cancer. I know in my mind that I will never see him again in the physical world– only through a few pictures and recordings. However, my emotions even after two years had not reached my thoughts. Last night, I knew through my body that my husband would never come home again.

I am told that it gets easier. I know it gets easier. I don’t get faced with these thoughts every hour of every day like the first year. I actually laughed a few months ago.

How long did I cry? Enough that my sinuses were clogged and I couldn’t breath. Enough that I was numb. Is this a catharsis?

“The movie was based on the real Hachikō, who was born in Ōdate in 1923. After the death of his owner, Hidesaburō Ueno in 1925, Hachikō returned to the Shibuya train station the next day and every day after that for the next nine years until he died in March 1935. A bronze statue of Hachikō is in front of the Shibuya train station in his honor.” Wikipedia

 

Love, loyalty, and grief

Last night when I should have been preparing for bed, I turned on the TV for some mindless noise and on the CW movie channel (33-2), Hachi, a story of an Akita and the man who found him at a train station. The reason I left the movie on as I dressed for bed, tucked in the dog, and played a game on my tablet was because it was a sweet slow story.

A young boy was asked to make a report about a hero in his life so he told about his grandfather’s dog, Hachi. There were no men trying to steal the dog. There were no car chases. In fact it was not my normal movie fare.

However, as I watched the man and dog interact through play. As I watched the dog escort him to the train station and then meet the professor when he got off the train, I started to get invested in the two of them. Yes, I waited for something to happen, but it was so quiet that I didn’t get the dramatic affect until later in the movie.

At this point, I am warning you– I will be revealing plot points–so if you don’t want to know, do not read further–

The professor dies. Hachi waits for him to come home for several years.

How can I explain the affect this part of the movie had on my emotions. The movie went from being a sweet story about a love between a man and his dog to a emotionally charged movie about a dog that waited for a man who would never come home again.

Of course I made the connection between this dog and my own circumstances. I lost a husband from cancer. I know in my mind that I will never see him again in the physical world– only through a few pictures and recordings. However, my emotions even after two years had not reached my thoughts. Last night, I knew through my body that my husband would never come home again.

I am told that it gets easier. I know it gets easier. I don’t get faced with these thoughts every hour of every day like the first year. I actually laughed a few months ago.

How long did I cry? Enough that my sinuses were clogged and I couldn’t breath. Enough that I was numb. Is this a catharsis?

“The movie was based on the real Hachikō, who was born in Ōdate in 1923. After the death of his owner, Hidesaburō Ueno in 1925, Hachikō returned to the Shibuya train station the next day and every day after that for the next nine years until he died in March 1935. A bronze statue of Hachikō is in front of the Shibuya train station in his honor.” Wikipedia

 

We last left Cyn in her grieving place

It has been three months less ten days since I last held my hubby’s hand while he died. The first two weeks I was going through the motions of living. If my friends hadn’t introduced me to Foxy at the crucial moment, I would have retreated into myself and then left as well.

The last week as my emotions have started to come back, I have screamed and raged. I have cried for days. The floodgates have opened and I have been washed down into an ocean of tears. They tell me that it is good. I need to cry and grieve so that I don’t hurt this way five years from now.

Did I tell you that I am a fighter? I am tempted to run– run into the desert and scream at the hills. Throw stones. I want to scream until all my emotions are emptied out onto the ground.

In all of this turmoil, I have been ripped out of my home (it was a rental and I couldn’t afford it). I find that without the care of family I would be out on the streets. I can’t rent and I can’t buy… not until I get a few more income streams. I am a veteran and I am ill. I am nothing. I have nothing.

I found an old friend of my hubby’s on the weekend through one of the social media sites. I had been looking for him for weeks. He told me that he knew something was wrong when my hubby, who had been a friend of his since he was a teenager, quit emailing. I felt bad that I couldn’t find him sooner. But he knows now… he was in shock.

The good thing– the thing that makes me remember my now late hubby with joy is that he was a true friend and husband. He tried to take care of me in the end. It has gone well in some considerations and not so well in others. Still it is only three months less ten days since his death.