healing through grief

When I was little, I was fascinated by imprints left on skin by foreign objects: ridges on ankles from tight socks; sleep line creases left by a pillow; geometric patterns circling my mother’s wrist from her watch. I called them ‘marks’.

I liked to trace my finger over these marks, finding the tactile change in surface oddly satisfying. I was particularly fascinated by my mother’s skin; soft and like home. She would indulge my curiosity, nestling me into her nook while I read her skin like braille.

When I lost my mother suddenly in 2015, I was sent into a deep shock. All the comforts and love I had known had suddenly been taken away from me. It felt like the most heinous robbery.

Turning her jewellery in the palm of my hand anchored my loss in something physical and comforting, knowing they had once touched her skin. I started to wear her moonstone ring and when I took it off at night, I could see the faint outline of the band etched into my finger. After a minute or two it had disappeared. The impermanence of this mark made me think of the transient nature of life; visible and then gone.

I played with other sacred treasures she left behind and began printing them on my skin to feel a connection with her once more.

Loss can be inconsolable and lonely. I don’t even think there is a time when you fully heal from losing a loved one. But maybe we aren’t supposed to. Maybe the hole left behind by that person should be acknowledged, paid homage to and always remembered.

Perhaps we can ride the tide of grief and nurse it, holding ourselves lovingly where it aches. Then maybe, just maybe something sweet and comforting can emerge.