It has been a difficult week or two for me. A recurrent sinus infection knocked me about for a week before I’d booked in to go to a free-motion feathers class out at Handcrafter’s House – so bad, I nearly had to cancel despite having done little besides nurse it.
I got home tired, exhausted and out of sorts after having spent day one practising my feathers on this piece of work. I had just got my dinner onto a plate Saturday night and collapsed when the phone rang. I was fairly grumpy at being disturbed by this point. But it was my parents. They weren’t calling to remind me to call my aunt to wish her a happy birthday the next day. Instead, they were calling to tell me that, amidst the birthday party-preparations, my uncle had suffered a heart attack and died.
Sometimes life just knocks you for a loop. My aunt has lost her husband. My cousin has lost his father. My brother and I have lost the only uncle we’ve ever really known, and my dad has lost his only brother.
It seems odd to me that when someone passes away, people who rarely express themselves suddenly find a lot to say, but I – who pride myself on being a writer – lose my words. They just become so damned inadequate.
I went out to the second day of the workshop, to keep my hands busy and my mind distracted. And despite the exhaustion, the sickness and the grief, this came out, which is possibly one of the best pieces of work I’ve ever done:
I’ll post more on this piece later.