Loss & Grieving

Yesterday, July 23rd, was the first anniversary of Rocky’s death. Yesterday. It does not seem possible that a whole year has passed since that awful day. But it has, and quickly, too.

The grieving process is many things: not always a storm of emotions, rather a time of deep thought on many things, some of them the simplest in all of life. Why that is poses other questions and deep thought. Friday’s blog on Unfinished business is only one of them.

Aloneness is another one. Shared thoughts and reactions to shared events is another. Daily teasing opportunities gone, vanished. The source of humor and much laughter is missed.

Simple togetherness is yet another. Being in the same room with another human being, one you don’t have to wonder understanding you, is a huge miss. Sharing a meal together is another. Probably the biggest loss, is the silent hug, the acknowledging glance or smile.

A life shared is the core of these feelings. The absence is a giant hollow. No echoes here. Just absence. Absence. The reality of that grows large. The memories struggle to fill the gaps, but they do no justice. Feelings respond, however. Feelings. Amorphous. Unmeasurable but big. An impediment to movement, to action, and to thinking through complicated thoughts.

Most days memories dimly return. Times passed over 23 years together. People we knew during shared times of effort and purpose. Lots of people. Relationships specialized in so many crevices of our interests and commitments. And art.

That’s ART. Rocky was quite an artist. Over his lifetime he tried several artistic journeys. Lapidary and making jewelry were a pair. Another was carpentry. Then crafted, finely carved boxes – different woods and secret openings. He was into clay in a big way. Both sculpted items and functional items. Colors, shapes, and purposes combined to make art tactile and useful. All inspiring. A legacy of his with each item. Rare now because none of them will be copied or reproduced by him.

Art became Rocky’s special means of communication. With his laryngectomy, he no longer had a voice. Trained vibrations from a handheld gadget while mouthing words went only so far. Writing was not a strong suit. So, art it was. And he spoke volumes.

The art remains of course. The artist does not. Another reminder of a hole in my world.

Remember Rocky and his passion for life. Inarticulate in many ways like so many of us, he said much more through his art.

July 24, 2024

 

 

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