a weekend of rain and thunder and out-door gloominess. it’s not fair,  i spend all week in my little cube, doing my “rabbit,” as they would say in a clockwork orange, while sun shines outside (all i can really see of it is the glow on the ceiling tiles), thinking about going out with my camera on the weekend – only to have it be not photographically conducive weather. well, there must be a cosmic message there somewhere.

i’ve been thinking about mourning a lot recently, perhaps because of my revisiting all the genealogy stuff – reading about all of those people who’ve died, especially the ones who didn’t make it past heir first year – or perhaps because of the recent loss of my mother in law. or all those people in places like zimbabwe or missouri or china who’s lives have been lost or at the very least permanently altered. and yesterday (during a brief break in the rain) i heard the roar of a chainsaw out in the woods, and smelled the familiar scent of the exhaust fumes (ah, sweet saw gas!) and thought (selfishly?) of my own losses, wishing it could have been me out there with a chain saw. talking with friends the other night about skiing, and how, gee, if you don’t ski, it sure makes for a long boring winter here in maine. thinking about those things i have lost, and how to mourn them. there is one school of thought that tells me to get over it and get on with it, the stuff in the ms magazines – oh, celebrate the things you still are able to do, and don’t think about the things you can’t do –  and i do – i can still walk pretty well, i can drive, i can work, etc. another school of thought tells me to delve into the mourning process and really explore it, dig into the pain and find room to cry and wail and shout in anger.

i don’t know which school i subscribe to. probably the latter. tho i don’t know where that mourning ends.


Author: Stephen

Stephen Harris is a writer, painter and a photographer who lives with his family in Maine.

3 thoughts on “rain”

  1. I really miss skiing, too. There are so many ski resorts nearby, and we used to go. But the trip is long to any of them, almost an hour. And I haven’t the strength in my legs for it. The last time I went, I had to roll down the hillside to return to the lodge!

    How embarrassing… people wanted to call the ski patrol, but I refused.

    So, no skiing in the winter. Thank heavens for the nearby river in the summer.

  2. Every once in awhile I get sucked down into the vortex of mourning and grief, it simply catches up with me when I least expect.
    The reasons? Let me count the ways..loss of parents and spouse to death, loss of job and skillful work courtesy of MS, which brings up a whole bunch of little losses. Can’t walk a full block without a cane or walker, can’t cook a complete meal without taking “rest” breaks, can’t chase after my grandchildren, blah, blah, blah!
    So the hours or day when it overcomes me I just give in and wallow. I cry or stay in bed or do whatever I need to do to let it flow and let it go. Journaling helps at those times, too. I find it necessary to acknowledge and affirm those dark times when they come up. It is an exhausting and private event, attended by me only!
    Afterwards I always feel lighter of spirit, able to acclaim all I CAN still do , and re join the human race such as it is…

  3. Nothing says you can’t do both: mourn when you need to, be pissed off when you need to, etc., etc., etc., and then, having gotten it (temporarily) out of your system, you look on whatever bright side you can find until the next wave of grief comes.

    Sometimes I wish those MS magazines would just shove it. Don’t get me wrong – I appreciate the NMSS and the orgs and what they’re doing. But they start to smack of marketing-speak and the magazines start to look like those stupid flyers the drug companies hand out, and I just get tired of being spun. I’d spend more time reading their literature if I felt like they were – even occasionally – real, authentic or heartfelt. Sometimes we gotta just call a spade a spade: this disease sucks and sometimes you’re not going to feel like being all Pollyanna about it.

    (Oh my, apparently a button got pushed. Sorry for the soapbox moment!)


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