This is gorgeously heart-breaking! Yesterday was 36 years after my father died. It hit hard and I was in tears. Sending love to you & Artemis the Birman as we try to navigate life.
Oh, sweet one, I am sorry. Grief shreds everything, not just the heart. Victorians wore black for at least a year for a family death, longer for immediate family. We live too quickly in the US - until hit with major loss, like yours. If green would help though, check out Farrow-Ball Verdigris Green or Danish Lawn. It may be solvable with a wash of much lighter green over the blue, which could make it glow. You were fortunate to have such a deep love with your father so your pain is deeper. I hope you have friends to give hugs nearby.
This is so heartbreaking. And beautiful. I also have suffered multiple deaths over the past year, and your writing makes me cry and it gives me hope. Sending love and light.
It took me 5 years after my dad passed to be grateful for grief - because there is this old quote that says 'grief is love with no place to go'. I am grateful I still love him and all the lovely memories. Hope you find strength to hold both in your heart. Your writing is exquisite, as always.
my dad’s death came when i was realizing my hopes of becoming a mother were rapidly deteriorating & i’d been on a bunch of dissatisfying dates, so partnership also felt very unlikely. dealing with his death, alone, felt doubly awful. it continues to be a before & after point of significance in my life. so, when i say i understand that unique grief. i understand. i have distance from it now. it is less raw, but no less significant.
I see what you mean about the deep Navy blue. I selected a Benjamin Moore green, Mistletoe (not kidding), for an accent wall and I love it and visitors do, too. It’s not a jewel tone. Green interior paint is supposed to elicit calm in the home. Maybe something quieter is good for right now? In which case I recommend Mistletoe. The ninth anniversary of my dad’s death is just about now and I keep thinking about his beautiful hands. I loved his hands. They were just perfect - fingers not curved like mine and my mother’s. We could make each other laugh, not with jokes. Just with shared understanding. About being an only kid without parents and no partner and no kids? Alone is hard. Really hard. And it’s okay. You are not alone. You have witness/sisters here hurting for you and pulling for you. It’s amazing how open you are on this platform. Thank you for this. We need each other, now more than ever. Thanks for showing up as your whole (amazing) self.
Your sword work is beautiful - I saw your grief pain in it. How precious and full your relationship with your father was. He raised a wonderful, feeling and loving, intelligent and strong daughter. I dreamed of my Mother after she passed - but she didn't speak vocally - I just knew what she was saying. I said I wanted one more hug but when she took me to her bosom, I never "landed" - I couldn't feel her but in my memory. I told her I didn't want her to go - she smiled and shook her head - and I felt her say it was all right - she was always with me. When my Dad passed I was 43. Too old probably to have kids already, but I grieved the loss of the walk down the aisle, and that my children would never know their grandparents, and my husband would never know my Mom and Dad, just as you are now. Alas, I am still single with no children - so no worries about my husband and children not knowing my parents! Blessings to you as you navigate your healing and process your grief. It never goes away, but it we get used to it's companionship ...
Red, White, and Blue. The colors we all live under. Red - the Indigenous peoples, so despicably treated by the invaders from the east. White - the racism and bigotry laid upon non-whites throughout our Nations history, until 60 years ago before codified into law, before recently being erased from law, by the SCOTUS white majority. Blue - how democratic, freedom yearning Americans feel in our present time. Yet, also determined. Determined to fight for a return to the better angels of our souls, and our founding father’s ideals. Let freedom ring! For all our Fathers, Mothers, Sisters, and Brothers! Let freedom ring!
There are Days and then there are Daze. When things go wrong, don't stay in a "Daze" but be thankful there will be thousands of "other Days" you will rejoice in. Hang in there for you are Gold.
I'm curious what color you go with. I like your description of the grey-blue 'dead-whale' color. When you look for a new color, take the art piece on the wall with you. That will help.
Another thing that might help beautify grief is to plant trees in your father's honor/donate to a local garden center near you.
I have to sit back, brush a tear from my left and right eyes, and contemplate the fire this time I just read.
Upon doing so, I'm not sure what to say.
I will start with this---
Dr. Augustine Kwadwo Attiah, a man I never knew, was clearly a gift giver. Along with Karen's mother, he clearly bequeathed--via the trench warfare of parental love and the alchemy of genetics--a woman not only of striking talent and beauty, but of equally striking depths of sensitivity.
Not sure if it was Ernest Hemingway, or Red Smith who opined of writing as easy, "just sit down at the typewriter (those days), open a vein and bleed".
Irrespective of the source, this is exactly and literally what Karen has done today.
Even more so than the cut on her hand depicting the shedding of her literal blood, she has shed a more metaphorical yet deeper hemoglobin based substance, in sharing her deepest fears and anxieties as she has done tonight.
It isn't often that we can read an otherwise fierce Amazonian warrior, while literally watching her geometrically lovely limbs practicing the bladed martial arts, write of her deepest insecurities. Yet that we her readers, most certainly did.
As her father's first name was Augustine, I hearken to another admired son of the African continent, St. Augustine of Hippo, whose most famous work is entitled, "Confessions".
Karen has shed both literal and metaphorical blood in confessing things that most of us would never discuss in public, much less the omniverse of the Internet. And yet in her confessions we find, after vicariously seeing the dark caves she has traversed, the higher ground and the lovely forests (albeit NOT Bavarian green forests; BTW, is that Glengarry Glen Ross-esque, or what?!?) she is clearly still able to so wade into, due to both the gifts her Father has left her, and those she possesses innately.
And finally, while talking 'bout confessions sounds... like a whisper!---I must confess that when I first stumbled upon Karen's columns in the previous WAPO, you know, the actually journalistic D.C. mainstay, still pumping out thoughtfully original and non-censored, non-crimped, non-corporately aligned pieces, back in the last halcyon days before the Anschluss---that I was transfixed by the palpable sensitivity pulsing throughout her work irrespective of the subject, and struck by the little photo/avatar next to her column, revealing a mix of hair, cheekbones and eyes so aesthetically pleasing as to stop me in my tracks.
Tonight, I see blood on the tracks yet am neither stuck nor stopped, but rather am stirred to seek the ramparts, upon which she so boldly stakes a claim that may never be fulfilled, but sure as hell should be
In USA it seems like grief has to be "gotten through". Quickly. We're in such a hurry about so much, why not speed up grief too. Maybe the one step at a time or one day at a time way could offer a path forward. Thank goodness you have your dear cat. Best wishes.
This is gorgeously heart-breaking! Yesterday was 36 years after my father died. It hit hard and I was in tears. Sending love to you & Artemis the Birman as we try to navigate life.
Oh, sweet one, I am sorry. Grief shreds everything, not just the heart. Victorians wore black for at least a year for a family death, longer for immediate family. We live too quickly in the US - until hit with major loss, like yours. If green would help though, check out Farrow-Ball Verdigris Green or Danish Lawn. It may be solvable with a wash of much lighter green over the blue, which could make it glow. You were fortunate to have such a deep love with your father so your pain is deeper. I hope you have friends to give hugs nearby.
Thank you. Just… thank you.
This is so heartbreaking. And beautiful. I also have suffered multiple deaths over the past year, and your writing makes me cry and it gives me hope. Sending love and light.
It took me 5 years after my dad passed to be grateful for grief - because there is this old quote that says 'grief is love with no place to go'. I am grateful I still love him and all the lovely memories. Hope you find strength to hold both in your heart. Your writing is exquisite, as always.
my dad’s death came when i was realizing my hopes of becoming a mother were rapidly deteriorating & i’d been on a bunch of dissatisfying dates, so partnership also felt very unlikely. dealing with his death, alone, felt doubly awful. it continues to be a before & after point of significance in my life. so, when i say i understand that unique grief. i understand. i have distance from it now. it is less raw, but no less significant.
Sending love and healing energies. I was deeply moved by this essay
I see what you mean about the deep Navy blue. I selected a Benjamin Moore green, Mistletoe (not kidding), for an accent wall and I love it and visitors do, too. It’s not a jewel tone. Green interior paint is supposed to elicit calm in the home. Maybe something quieter is good for right now? In which case I recommend Mistletoe. The ninth anniversary of my dad’s death is just about now and I keep thinking about his beautiful hands. I loved his hands. They were just perfect - fingers not curved like mine and my mother’s. We could make each other laugh, not with jokes. Just with shared understanding. About being an only kid without parents and no partner and no kids? Alone is hard. Really hard. And it’s okay. You are not alone. You have witness/sisters here hurting for you and pulling for you. It’s amazing how open you are on this platform. Thank you for this. We need each other, now more than ever. Thanks for showing up as your whole (amazing) self.
Your sword work is beautiful - I saw your grief pain in it. How precious and full your relationship with your father was. He raised a wonderful, feeling and loving, intelligent and strong daughter. I dreamed of my Mother after she passed - but she didn't speak vocally - I just knew what she was saying. I said I wanted one more hug but when she took me to her bosom, I never "landed" - I couldn't feel her but in my memory. I told her I didn't want her to go - she smiled and shook her head - and I felt her say it was all right - she was always with me. When my Dad passed I was 43. Too old probably to have kids already, but I grieved the loss of the walk down the aisle, and that my children would never know their grandparents, and my husband would never know my Mom and Dad, just as you are now. Alas, I am still single with no children - so no worries about my husband and children not knowing my parents! Blessings to you as you navigate your healing and process your grief. It never goes away, but it we get used to it's companionship ...
Red, White, and Blue. The colors we all live under. Red - the Indigenous peoples, so despicably treated by the invaders from the east. White - the racism and bigotry laid upon non-whites throughout our Nations history, until 60 years ago before codified into law, before recently being erased from law, by the SCOTUS white majority. Blue - how democratic, freedom yearning Americans feel in our present time. Yet, also determined. Determined to fight for a return to the better angels of our souls, and our founding father’s ideals. Let freedom ring! For all our Fathers, Mothers, Sisters, and Brothers! Let freedom ring!
There are Days and then there are Daze. When things go wrong, don't stay in a "Daze" but be thankful there will be thousands of "other Days" you will rejoice in. Hang in there for you are Gold.
I'm curious what color you go with. I like your description of the grey-blue 'dead-whale' color. When you look for a new color, take the art piece on the wall with you. That will help.
Another thing that might help beautify grief is to plant trees in your father's honor/donate to a local garden center near you.
I had an epiphany this morning during my mediation. You know how banks only lend money to those who don’t need it?
Maybe the universe works that way with gratitude. Maybe we only receive abundance when we are filled with gratitude.
Today I am going to be conscious of every blessing.
Wow!
I have to sit back, brush a tear from my left and right eyes, and contemplate the fire this time I just read.
Upon doing so, I'm not sure what to say.
I will start with this---
Dr. Augustine Kwadwo Attiah, a man I never knew, was clearly a gift giver. Along with Karen's mother, he clearly bequeathed--via the trench warfare of parental love and the alchemy of genetics--a woman not only of striking talent and beauty, but of equally striking depths of sensitivity.
Not sure if it was Ernest Hemingway, or Red Smith who opined of writing as easy, "just sit down at the typewriter (those days), open a vein and bleed".
Irrespective of the source, this is exactly and literally what Karen has done today.
Even more so than the cut on her hand depicting the shedding of her literal blood, she has shed a more metaphorical yet deeper hemoglobin based substance, in sharing her deepest fears and anxieties as she has done tonight.
It isn't often that we can read an otherwise fierce Amazonian warrior, while literally watching her geometrically lovely limbs practicing the bladed martial arts, write of her deepest insecurities. Yet that we her readers, most certainly did.
As her father's first name was Augustine, I hearken to another admired son of the African continent, St. Augustine of Hippo, whose most famous work is entitled, "Confessions".
Karen has shed both literal and metaphorical blood in confessing things that most of us would never discuss in public, much less the omniverse of the Internet. And yet in her confessions we find, after vicariously seeing the dark caves she has traversed, the higher ground and the lovely forests (albeit NOT Bavarian green forests; BTW, is that Glengarry Glen Ross-esque, or what?!?) she is clearly still able to so wade into, due to both the gifts her Father has left her, and those she possesses innately.
And finally, while talking 'bout confessions sounds... like a whisper!---I must confess that when I first stumbled upon Karen's columns in the previous WAPO, you know, the actually journalistic D.C. mainstay, still pumping out thoughtfully original and non-censored, non-crimped, non-corporately aligned pieces, back in the last halcyon days before the Anschluss---that I was transfixed by the palpable sensitivity pulsing throughout her work irrespective of the subject, and struck by the little photo/avatar next to her column, revealing a mix of hair, cheekbones and eyes so aesthetically pleasing as to stop me in my tracks.
Tonight, I see blood on the tracks yet am neither stuck nor stopped, but rather am stirred to seek the ramparts, upon which she so boldly stakes a claim that may never be fulfilled, but sure as hell should be
In USA it seems like grief has to be "gotten through". Quickly. We're in such a hurry about so much, why not speed up grief too. Maybe the one step at a time or one day at a time way could offer a path forward. Thank goodness you have your dear cat. Best wishes.
Love to you.