No words this week. Just pictures. Because I said I would. So here I am.
A baby’s wail echoes across the hospital . I wonder why it is that I can hear the same cry around the same time every day. It’s haunting but I am not scared. They are just babies and this is just a hospital where the sick come to be healed. There’s so much space here, every cry is amplified a thousand times wafting in at their own will if you keep the windows open.
There’s a baby next door who’s undergone multiple surgeries. The dressings of her wounds are clinging to her head and her belly. Her father, a small gaunt man, not older than me I’d think, carries her around , walking about, to entertain her. We sometimes sit in the lobby area looking out at Colombo, with it’s smoky atmosphere and the cluttered landscape. So-many-buildings! The baby looks at me, and my phone, undoubtedly liking the striking yellow color of it. I extend it to her, and she stares at me. She has wide clear eyes, her shaved head is bit too large for her tiny body. She has such a lovely smile. She scrutinizes my face and I wonder if she thinks I am ugly. A female doctor walks over to the baby and smiles but at the very sight of the doctor, the baby’s smile dies on her lips. She looks at her father who’s clearly distressed but he’s talking in subdued tones with the doctor. The baby wouldn’t let the good doctor touch her , no not one bit.
“Another time”. The doctor smiles. “When she’s more distracted” .
I walk back into the room where my mother’s sleeping, hoping to upload my 365.
Blogging from a hospital room.
My mother is peacefully asleep and it’s a bit too early for me , so I am up in the dark, with only the light from the laptop screen for company, blogging.
Grief is a personal thing.
It’s best not bestowed on other people, but people have been kind to me, enormously kind to me, to our family, during the past two weeks.
My mother has been through hell and back, given her children wings to fly, lived alone, worked all her life, and never for once, thought herself weak or fragile. For all that she has been and been through, when she got sick , I kept thinking, no not her , please not her, knowing all too well, the indifference it makes.
But, the people were amazing. And the universe, it chose to be kind this time.
She’s ok. Or, better worded , it’s not as bad as we thought it would be. And I am thankful.
Where’s that girl who took offense at some slight someone did, some comparison some one made and felt small and insignificant? That girl , who was petty and jealous? Perspective , child. grief gives you perspective. Her voice is getting smaller and smaller in my head.
I can now pick out the black from the white, and prioritize.
I only want to spend time with my mother, who let me go when it was needed, who loves me unconditionally, who , even in her present state wonders if I had a proper meal or if I am not too cold.
I don’t know what the future holds for any of us, and Gods be kind, I am petrified, but for now, I am with her and everyone we love is with us and she’s ok. Everyone is OK.
Here we are, already done with week 4 and I don’t know where time has gone.
Tom Hiddleston however, slowed down time for me today when I had to be home because I’ve caught myself a urine infection. Ugh.
I fell asleep listening to his soothing voice, reciting the Sonnet 18 . ( Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? )
Here’s the link. Tell me you are not awed.
And, here are the pictures from week 4. It seems to me, that the project 365 has turned into a reminder of how fast time can really move when you are not watching it.
I never think of myself as anything.
I don’t like labels, I don’t like thinking myself as one way or another because, I am not.
I don’t like to think I am fierce or that I am gentle, I find that I am a constant ball of contradictions, tangled up in one another. And there’s my comfort.
I am made of lot of broken pieces , held together by love, if you will. I feel sadness deep in my bones just as much as I feel love. I feel anger and jealousy and pity , red hot and deep purple , and I hate myself when I do, and God knows I like a bit of distance. So I am cold. Sue me.
I don’t try to be anything, just somebody I can live with, I just want the world to treat me as such. But no. The world wants many things. And I have to live with the world.
This post is pointless, and is frustrating so here I am , making it into the fourth week, giving you the pictures from the third.
Game of Thrones is a long read. They are big books and even if you are reading fairly fast, it’s still slow going. And not only because the books are in small print.
It’s exhausting to read with every sentence gripping all of your attention and consuming all of your emotions all at once. (Too many ‘all’s ?) Ever too often, I find myself putting the book down, feeling drained. Into my third book , ( and no I haven’t seen the TV series yet) it’s starting to intensify more and more as I read on.
Sometimes I put it down, and I have to take a walk around the house , or drink a cup of tea or kiss my husband while I try to get a grip on the shock some chapters present. Even then sometimes, I can’t bring myself to read on. Not until I feel strong enough to handle the book.
I’ve never been tortured at the hands of a book this way. And I love it ! You want a book to consume you and this is such a good series that I feel, one day when I am old and grey and all our children have gone away to their lives, I’ll be able to pick it up and not feel lonely.
The sky rumbles and rumbles but there’s no rain.
I am seated by the window in the living room, in my reading spot with the curtain that’s just a bit too short.
There’s no wind. There’s a strange kind of stillness that promises rain and my head’s been hurting since morning so I wish there was a bit of wind.
It frustrates me that there isn’t. My head throbs persistently. There’s still no rain.
I give you, the second week. So glad I made it this far. huh.