A few months ago, I made a little book of water colors. An abstract children’s book about grief. I picture it as a board book, each page spread a new, bright, glossy watercolor, with a simple line of text below. The color saturation here doesn’t quite do it justice, but here it is…
Death, when it comes, cracks everything open.
There is a sharp divide: Before. After.
All life becomes fragile.
Grief covers everything in thick waves.
It has many colors.
Sometimes it feels like drowning.
There is loneliness. The absence of you.
© Burning Eye
a little art for our little boy
i made this one. a tree seemed appropriate.
a.l.m. made these.
i can’t believe it’s been 3 years.
I have a poem up at Glow today about the recurring dreams I had when I was pregnant with Joseph. I used to believe something about dreams. If not that they could be prophetic, then that they pointed us toward something. We could learn something from them.
Now, I’m not so sure.
I don’t really want to believe that they tell us anything at all about waking life. Because, in this pregnancy I have dreamed again of houses. It scares me. I don’t want it to mean anything about this baby’s fate.
And still, there is that dream my father had a few nights before Joseph died, the night before we drove up to visit them. In his dream, Death came.
How can I not believe in that?