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Our beloved and much missed blogging dinosaur, Rara, sent me the following words to share with the Stories That Must Not Die community.  I had planned on just posting them here for you all to consume as is, but considering I cried while typing them up, I figured I should probably warn you, before you read, her words are powerfully sad and explode with her pain and grief.  So, read them, definitely read them, but do so cautiously, and then write her another letter to tell her it isn’t her fault, and she is so much more than how she is feeling now.

Today my husband died.

Maybe it was 26 days ago, but the shock of his absence has permanently stained my present moment.  Every Today will always be the day he died.  I wake up, suffer the sunrise, and lose him all over again.

I am not strong enough to survive this forever.  I ache with missing him – his strength, his peace, his talent.

In all our years together – our decade – I never once envied his talent.  It coursed through his veins and bled from his fingertips into the pages of our daylight.  It forced him awake through the aching hours of our night.  Everything was his canvas and he painted with words – stroking Light and mixing color into the stretched fabric of our intertwined years.  Words filled him and emptied him, scarred him and caressed him, and marred his perfection.  But he loved them as he loved me.

Unconditionally.  Eternally.  Constantly.

No, I never wished for even a teaspoon of his talent.  Until today, when he died.

I need the right words now.  I need to mix and blend them into a sentence that will balm my soul, and help me forgive myself.  He died alone because I failed him.  There is a story that will describe all facets of who he was.  I just need to find it.  Somewhere, in the brushstrokes of me, there is a way to explain why I didn’t use my own words at his funeral, and why I still can’t say goodbye, and why my once-friendly universe has started to suffocate my slowly.

I am heavy with Memories, bursting with the desire to share all my moments of him, so I can preserve them.  But I don’t have the talent, the air, or the words.

I have only a snuffed, stained canvas.

In my heart, I still hear my husband – telling me to paint our life with confidence – bit it is only my life now and there’s nothing worth noting anymore.

Yesterday I Lived a masterpiece of color and light, and I was ever-so-loved by my artist.

But he died today,

And now I am blank.

If you can, please spread the word and donate to the GoFundMe account that has been set-up to help Rara get back on her feet when she is released from prison: http://www.gofundme.com/rararelief

(Thank you Madame Weebles for setting that up.)

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66 thoughts on “blank

  1. I still don’t know how to say goodbye…and not sure I really want to learn. I too lost my partner of 10 years, some 15 years ago. He is still, and will always be with me. Perhaps these words might help. I found them just today. Maybe just so that I could send them to you, dearheart…

    Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be spoken without effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well…

    In love and light, I am with you ❤

    Liked by 7 people

  2. Reblogged this on CardCastlesInTheSky and commented:

    I don’t have the right words right now because the two people this beautiful story is about are my friends. They are also our STMND founders and friends to many “’round the ‘sphere”. I miss them both terribly and I’m blank myself, maybe someday I can find the words. Right now, this just aches.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Words fail me! IF I remembered correctly, I’ve read words written by Rara’s husband shortly before she went to prison… Oh my God! I can’t type anymore. My love and prayers to my friend…..

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Your snuffed, stained canvas sings of love, of beauty, of pain, of aching lonliness and of truth.
    Don’t underestimate yourself – as he didn’t. So many people will recognise pieces of themselves on that canvas – and ache for and with you.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I have no words of comfort for our dear Rara but I will wish all the stars to give her more strength to paint her stained canvas again. I wish she can still remember the 100 things she listed that she’ll do when she gets out and I hope that it will give her somewhere to start. 😦 Please stay strong Rara!

    Liked by 2 people

  6. My prayers and blessings with her. Hope she finds the strength to get up and start all over again. Words that give me strength during my tough times which I would like to share,
    “Nothing is new under the sun. We all have to carry our cross,”

    Liked by 2 people

  7. Ah Rara. When I heard he had left I literally bent over like someone knocked the air out of me. It was a faint whisper compared to what you felt. We can only try to breath our love into you. Thank you for sharing that ultimate painful moment that continues to echo during your days and nights.

    Liked by 1 person

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