Creative Grief Tool, gratitude, Kairos, landscape, memories, National Parks, Photograph by Ken Gehle, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, Photography, prayer, quest, tool
“Let’s go to Death Valley,” he said. This was in response to my question about where we should go for my husband’s forty-fourth birthday and our first vacation away from our two small children in several years. I laughed, “No, really where do you want to go?” “Death Valley!” he grinned looking over the top of his glasses and that’s when I knew he was serious. Death Valley National Park is a place of odd beauty. Compared to what I perceived as the lush landscape of the Southeast, most of the vistas in Death Valley could best be described as simply, brown. To an inexperienced eye, such as mine, the ridiculously vivid blue sky was met only by tones of sepia. All the same, once Ken had convinced me to be there, I found it a place full of wonders I was eager to experience. We hiked and explored everywhere: salt flats, enormous sand dunes, a salt creek, abandoned mines, steep trails leading to surreal rock formations and even a ghost town. After days of exploring the park mostly at sunrise and sunset a curious thing happened, my eyes adjusted. One evening Ken set up for a shot in an area of the park known as the Artist’s Palette. Our trip was almost over. Faint hues of white, verdigris and deep red were visible on the range in front of us. As the sun approached the horizon behind us the colors of the arid earth began to reveal themselves. The mountainside was luminous with yellow, green, blue and even purple. The variety, there all along, was subdued and unappreciated...
art, close up, creativity, grief, landscape, letting go, loss, Love Lives On, memories, moving forward, Photograph by Ken Gehle, Photography, Products, widow
There is so little that is untouched, five years later; not much is as he left it. His studio has new occupants. The photography equipment - other than his camera that is now mine - has been sold. It has taken me all this time to finally find the will to begin the process of updating his website. This too is a letting go. Other than the cover page, I have made no changes. Technology does not wait. When he died he carried a first generation iPhone. These days, pulling up his website on a phone or iPad, which didn’t even exist at the time, results in nothing…a blank screen. I’ve had to start pointing people to the limited selection of photos in his online portfolio that was not meant for showcasing fine art prints. There is an odd noise coming from the computer he used to manage the site. The software it was created in is totally unfriendly and beyond my computer skills. Ironic, when I think back to the days when I first taught him how to use a computer. So change continues as it will. I have to move along with it. The first small improvement I made was behind the scenes but has begun to stem the tide of daily spam that has been an overwhelming problem for too long. Now the stage is set for converting the site to something that actually works to keep his work in the world. Ken was an award-winning photographer who had National ADDYs to his credit, the advertising industries’ equivalent of an Academy Award. It would break...
children, grief, letting go, memories, parenting, Photograph by Tamara Beachum
When my kids were small I would easily purge toys and ephemera from their rooms with some regularity. A few items that they couldn’t quite release yet would be put in boxes that I would store for them to go through later. Later never really came though and now that they are all grown up they don’t have an interest in those boxes at all. “Give it all away,” my daughter said casually. She didn’t feel the need to look. Now that they are on the other side of childhood it’s harder for me to just load up the boxes for donation. So I’ve been going through them and, even though very few objects are making the cut, it has been an emotionally challenging job. But there was a bright spot that lifted my spirits when I got to the bottom of the most recent box and found this little sweetheart of a snow globe. I can’t recall all of the details around it and my co-rememberer (yes, I made that up), her father, is not here for me to ask. I seem to remember this snow globe was in my daughter’s Easter basket one year. The date on the bottom, 1998, probably means it was her last Easter basket as an only child. Her nickname at the time was “little duck.” When her brother began to talk he gave her a new nickname and there was no going back. Immediately, I knew where this snow globe would live next. A friend’s daughter has Asperger’s Syndrome. Birthdays are hard for her. While she would like to have a...
grief, hope, just be, memories, moving forward, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, poetry
Today marks year four since my husband died. In this moment, I am OK. For me the day of the milestone is rarely as hard as the time leading up to it. The anticipation gets me. So on a cold gray day in early December I could feel myself going under. I recognized the swell of grief as it came toward me and just let it be. When I surfaced I wrote this poem in just a few minutes. Rather than editing it to death in pursuit of something worth ‘publishing’ I’m simply going to put it out for you to see. It reflects the conflict of wanting the life I had back and at the same time holding dear the life I have now. Grief and joy together. There are times… There are times When I still sink my head into my hands Not wanting to believe he is gone. No, not denial just longing. Longing for a different truth An alternate universe Where his kids have both parents And normal is ordinary. Where I can love in the moment Without remembering what is gone…gone. Where there are no tears Following these familiar trails down my face. He’s off wandering…flying. I’m left behind; We are left behind. I try to follow but my feet hold fast To the ground Remaining. I yearn for a time where weather is just weather Not a trigger for emotions that I will not welcome. Memory becomes ache, Ache becomes anguish Deepening into rolling grief. For some I shift to pariah. Not all love is unconditional. Others fall away But those who...
children, grief, memories, moving forward, Photograph by Ken Gehle
I have a Sunfish sailboat in my basement. I have no clue how to sail it and the trailer for it is long gone anyway having rusted through behind the garage. It seems a shame for it to just sit but it’s the one belonging of my late husband’s that my kids are adamant that we must not shed. I can picture him leaving the shore time after time while the kids, too little to go with him, and I waited on the shore for his return. They have that same picture in their heads I imagine. He always came back before. This grief is a bit like pushing that sailboat into the ocean from the shore. At first the breakers pound you relentlessly and you fear they are going to push you to the bottom. Then after a while you get beyond them. There are still swells and the occasional breaker but you’re sailing now. You feel the adrenaline rush of your leave-taking begin to subside. There is calm in the sailing, even peace, though the need to change direction offers new challenges. Obstacles crop up that need to be circumnavigated. You maneuver. You jibe. You avoid the shifting boom in the wind. Peace returns but let’s be real, it’s not as secure as standing back on the shore. You find that you are steady in the wind again when – wham! – a rogue wave swamps the boat. It’s frightening. You fear you may not live through it. Soon you realize that you are not going to sink but you wonder if you really know what you’re...
art, just be, memories, Photograph by Ken Gehle, Photography, Widow Blog Hop, Wordless Wednesday
Deserted Gear on the road to Goblin Valley State Park, Utah. This month I’m participating in a blog hop with fellow widows/widowers. I encourage you to enjoy these other blogs and leave them a comment or two: Samantha of the Crazy Courage blog Janine of One Breath At A Time Red’s The M3 Blog Becky’s Choosing Grace Today Marriott of Miracles and Answers to the Prayers in the Life of Marriott Cole Christine of Widow Island Robin of The Fresh Widow Tim’s Diary of a Widower Running Forward: Abel Keogh’s Blog Carolyn at Modern Widow’s Club Hello Grief Andrea of International Brotherhood of Single Mothers Tamara of Artful Living After Loss Jessica at Buttons to Beans Anne – Missing Bobby: A Widow’s Journey The Grief...
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