Creativity and art are central to my life, and as I share art for wellbeing with others, I see at first hand the impact it can have. Sometimes I share my own lived experience, how art helps me navigate issues and gives me a sense of purpose and connection. But now I’m navigating a very new and very personal issue.
For now I’ve found myself overwhelmed by loss. My lovely mum passed away suddenly a month ago. Although her health and mobility had been declining for several years with Parkinson’s, her passing was unexpected, as she developed sepsis, and treatment came too late. Bereavement has so far felt different than I’d ever imagined – more unreal, more crushing, more physical, more about regrets over missed chances to get more help sooner. And now, as time moves on, about absence. That’s so far, on this journey of a million miles.
Things I thought gave my life joy pale into insignificance. But it’s also reminded me what matters most, what life is really all about. Faith and hope we all need, and it’s all too easy to let faith become overshadowed by the day to day.
At first, writing alone proved my most helpful creative outlet. Writing and journaling about feelings is something I’ve never felt drawn to do before, but with a pen and a notebook, my thoughts could get out of my head and down in black and white. They don’t become any less painful or unbearable, but writing allows me to unravel them for a while, make some sense of them and record how they change. I might be writing down memories or regrets, or noting something practical I’ve learned about Parkinsons or sepsis, or remembering the order of events to rationalise hpw and why it all went so wrong. Or I might be noting kind tributes and comments about Mum, or ideas for new things to do now.
Sometimes, yes, I need to close the notebook and do something totally different. But I struggled to concentrate for long – at first – on anything other than what had happened, so the writing became a way to dwell in that space and to explore more actively than by thinking alone. Even simply forming the letters with my pen was something active to focus on.
Writing makes the intangible blur of thoughts tangible as they take shape on the page. It’s slowing down now as the days go on, but for a time it was something I turned to a lot. And now it’s something I can turn back to, a record to re-read.
Gradually, it’s become journaling, as image and creativity have started to creep in. I use some word art – writing words in different sizes or styles. It can highlight what certain words express – like writing thoughts to form circles or spirals, turning the paper as you write, to represent how thoughts go round and round your head. Or writing some thoughts in graffiti style, large and shaded, and others in minuscule lettering to show how you’d like to hide them away. And now I’ve illustrated two or three of the pages as well, with symbols.
In the rawness of loss, writing and creating has enabled me to vent, to express, to explore. It’s become an emotive and personal record of what it is for me to lose someone so dearly loved. And so I will write on.
Medley 