Author: VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

Memo to Self

Awakened by a crash just past midnight, I quickly realized my husband was not in bed and had fallen again. It’s the second time in two weeks. He couldn’t get back up.

Paramedics arrived within minutes. Three strapping men had him on his feet again in no time. He was jostled but okay.

I laid awake for hours.

It’s hard not to worry, focusing instead on the good.

This note is to myself. Encouragement to keep moving forward.

Colouring Lessons

Favourite colour?
Black, says she
without hesitation;

I falter, stumble
mind reaching –
who likes black?

Is that a colour?
It’s all colours,
she’s nonchalant

intent on task –
carefully keeping
within the lines

Of course it is,
ill equipped am I
to disagree, images

of dark somber
corners, sorrow
and death crows –

Why black? ask I –
composure forced –
had anticipated pink

equate childhood
with primary shades
splotches of yellow

and rainbow skies
candy red apples
on lollipop trees

but black? no –
black obliterates,
negates, destroys

It holds the colour
inside, she explains;
It’s the outline.

Not annihilation –
order; her mind
conceives of order

so much to learn
from innocence
have long forgotten

the art of staying,
within lines, finding
good in all things.

(Drawing from a different granddaughter: her GG)

A Master Class in Life

People ask: “How can you be so sick; you’re a strong person?” Or I am too positive of a person – how is it possible?

What if it is because of these very things that life has chosen me for a master class – a spiritual quest – not for the weak of heart? What if it’s because I’m a good student?

(Image and art mine)

Clothing

I would befriend hesitation,
take her shopping with me,
invest the time,
but impulse
is my constant companion.

Hesitation,
born of shared trauma,
labours over pain-filled decisions

My need is palpable,
throbbing,
must suffocate it,
weighted beneath
layers of numbing fabric

Afraid to show myself,
afraid that she will find me,
block any progress,
or worse

make my pay for these layers
of stolen moments…
encounter crazy reflected in her eyes

(Poem first appeared here June 2016. This version has been edited. Image my own)