Cath Sheard Art

Tag: grief

  • Gentle steps

    Gentle steps

    In my last blog post I said I was pleasantly surprised by the desire to create so soon after Tony’s death. I’m still creating, taking it gently but feeling good about it.

    People ask how I am … I’m ok. Am I great? No, but it’d be a bit weird if I was. I describe it as appropriately sad. The sadness comes and goes – after 33 years together, and all the years of slowly losing Tony, that feels ok.

    So I’m being kind to myself and creating with low expectations, doing what I feel like in the moment. I’m feeling inspired by Welsh castles, a theme I return to semi-regularly, often accompanied by masts, swords and what’s probably blood. It is what it is…

    In these current works, which are about A3 size, it feels important to work in overlapping layers. Why? I don’t know yet, but I’m happy to trust the process.

    I’ve also been doing some gelli printing,

  • A little creativity

    Tony & I nursed Mum for 14 years. After she died I didn’t create any finished art pieces for about 18 months. I expected the same to happen when Tony died. I’ve been prepared to spend my time creating in my art journals, relying on Dina Wakley and Dyan Reaveley for inspiration.

    Tony passed away three weeks ago tomorrow night. Last night I decided to put together a large concertina journal using Hahnemühle Bamboo Mixed Media paper. I figured it’d probably sit around for ages, unused, but making something was a positive step.

    Alan went to work early this morning, and I had some time at my desk before Sandra and I went out, then a few hours on my own once we got home. I, not sure where this is going, but there’s art happening and I’m amazed.

    I was talking to my good friend, and fellow artist, Pen Kirk about why it’s different this time. I feel I’ve had better self care throughout because I’ve “been there, done that”l also, I’m older, so have more life experience.

    Talking to my sister later, she remarked “Alan’s pretty helpful. Wasn’t Tony getting unwell by the time Mum died?” and both of those things are true. I’ve been fortunate to have Alan’s support the last few years, whereas in the final years with Mum Tony was already struggling.

    It’s great that I want to create already, but I won’t be putting any pressure on myself to create finished work. Whatever I do is ok…

  • Out of my head, onto paper

    Out of my head, onto paper

    This has been a rough week for various reasons, so a day of pouring out my heart and head into my art journals has been good for me. I don’t sleep well some of the time, and when things are rough I tend to have bad dreams. I process everything that’s going in complicated dreams, often with my long-dead parents in them. I haven’t been doing that this week, but have been very wakeful, so hopefully getting lots of thoughts down in my art journals – many unreadable – will help settle my brain a bit! People say art is cheaper than a therapist, but I’m not sure they’ve seen my journal and paint supplies 😉

  • 7 years: a second ago, & forever

    It’s 7 years today since Mum died. She was very ready to die and we knew that. Ailsa and some of her family were here, by coincidence, and we spent the last 36 hours by her bedside at the home.

    Released with love? Yes. Grateful she could finally let go? Yes. But…

    Tony and I were Mum’s caregivers for 14 years, so Mum was a big part of my adult life. I miss her company. I miss telling her random stuff about my day. I miss reading to her from A A Milne, or new picture books that I think would make her laugh. She loved the ‘Walter the farting dog’ series.

    We bought her a hospital bed and it had a wonderful memory foam mattress – I used to nap on it in the sun on a Sunday afternoon while she snoozed in her lazyboy chair. Mum sometimes said, as I held her hand to cross the road, that we’d swapped roles from when I was a toddler, and that was true. But as she watched over me while I napped, she was the caregiver again.

    My brain is always restless for a couple of weeks prior to today’s anniversary. It’s not as awful as it was the first few years, when I had disturbing dreams. Once today is over, I come right.

    Someone asked me, kindly, last night if there was some guilt I need to let go of? Maybe – Mum had wanted to die at home, but spent 6 months in the rest home (of her own choosing). Or perhaps it’s just that today marks a massive change in my life and the restlessness is my way of acknowledging that.

    Either way, I miss you Mum. I’m pleased we had those 14 years together. It was hard work, but I got time with you most daughters don’t get, and that’s a privilege in today’s busy world. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

     

  • Beam me up

    As is often the case, I’ve turned to a song to say all the things I can’t find the words for. I love writing letters & blogging, and I’m a fairly slow deep thinker. Yet, when it comes to emotions, I’m suddenly voiceless.

    It’s the same for many addicts. Saying what’s in the deepest recesses of our hearts and minds is too hard, too scary, and makes us too vulnerable. On the flipside, that vulnerability is very healing. Through counselling, a lot of effort, and patient friends, I’ve healed a lot in the last year or so; healing that will help me maintain a healthy weight as I get further and further post weight loss surgery.

    This page uses the lyrics from P!nk’s song ‘Beam me up’ and refers to my angel babies, and also to missing Mum and Dad.

    beam 20190825