I was on the moon, watching the world spin in the distance with its vivid blue and green colors. I sat facing the sun, but felt no warmth. The cold vacuum of grief, sucking everything away until only hurt was left. Nothing felt real. I was floating alone in endless darkness.
Painting became a lifeline, a tether to reality for a short moment.
Over time, writing became a second anchor for me. Both forms of expression helped release that pressure valve in my head that needed venting. Creativity led me back down to earth.
I gave myself no expectations. No limits. No judgement.
I was forging a new path in uncharted wilderness and I was the expert. No one could tell me how to get through it or tell me which direction to take. I allowed grief to be my compass.
These days, I am busy with life ~ but still float away sometimes. Finding myself far out in space and having to reel myself back in with the stroke of a brush or keypad.
Grief has a funny way of taking us away sometimes . . . what do you do to bring yourself back?