"We Are At Zero...."

Declarative statement made today, meant as an achievement, on the local radio station.  "We are at zero...."  If I think about it too much, I go down paths I'd rather avoid just now.  So suffice it to say at least it jogged a little "something" so I'd start a new post here on my poor neglected blog.

Zero is a temperature reading--everyone knows that much.  Well zero is also my current dog quotient as, I'm very sad to report, Dakota has departed.  She went over the Rainbow Bridge in late September and I'm still feeling the loss.  She was a good companion and was my last living link to my dad.  So in classic Karen fashion, I buried myself in new work (a pattern I have finally figured out I've been doing for decades now, to cope with heavy losses.)  If I'm immersed in a new project, new work, a new series, I don't brood...quite as much.....

Dakota, Summer, 2013

So the back story is this.  After I posted the post below, Dakota continued to slowly, very slowly, fail all summer.  A few times, I thought "this is it, she's giving up now," but I'd manage to coax her back.  She got a terrible infection that was very challenging to heal (although I did learn to fit her with a T-shirt to keep her off the wound--a very nice alternative to "the cone of shame.")  I resorted to buying fresh roasted chicken for her, to bribing a friend to cook beef for her, anything I could dream up to keep her eating.

But it was getting harder, she was having trouble navigating the area, the step up into the camper, the deck--her eyes and her balance were failing.  We all finally realized it was time, and her wonderful doctor helped me help her to a peaceful ending.  I have her ashes here.  I mean to scatter them around the farm and the campground, and on my dad's grave.  When the weather improves, I'll take care of this.

So around this same time, the end of the summer, I was contacted by the Haystack School of Art to learn that there was a cancellation in their faculty retreat in early October, and that my name had been drawn to fill the spot..."Are you able to come to Maine?"  I basically moved heaven and earth to get there...I needed that proverbial "shot in the art" that only comes through a group of artists acting like kids.  And I had a mission, too...I wanted to get back into that metals studio on campus there to see "what's next?"  In my mind, I wanted to experiment with vitreous enamels....and what this has also come to include is working more directly with metal, too.  Copper in particular, but silver might be good too.

It was wonderful to be at Haystack again, to see old friends and meet new ones.  I postponed grieving for Dakota for a couple of weeks....it hit me when I returned to the campground and realized she wasn't sharing my camper anymore...most of you know this drill....the profound sense of loss.....

So my tried and true coping mechanism?  Besides keeping all the "regular things going"  I dove into making stuff.  And somehow, a whole new body of work began and has continued to evolve, in fits and starts, since October.  You can see some of it here Metalwork Pins & Pendants  Since I didn't have the luxury of staying quite as focused as I'd like, it's been slow--I did manage to close down the campground and move back to town during this time....and I did get through a pretty good Christmas season, too.  But when I can get some spare time, I just keep making more of these new pieces....and I give all the credit to Dakota.  It's not rational, there's no direct or obvious link, it's just the way things came together the past 6 or 7 months.  I miss her.  Her absence is noted now that I'm back in town now, too.  But I'm trying to start writing again.  And looks like I just took my first couple of steps!

Grief, Grieving and Going Forward

So where did almost 4 months go?? My poor little blog, I have neglected you and your readers terribly....I do know I have been just so heavy with sadness, whenever I slowed down enough to think, that the thought of actually writing has been quite simply a non-starter. And besides this, I find no joy in the photography I used to endlessly generate. On one hand, the campground and all the associated work here has made this a busy summer. On the other hand, I've found myself to be essentially mute and words have been hard to find.

When I finally woke up one morning and realized I wasn't snapping out of it, I found some help in the form of a support group offered by our local hospice. It sounds kind of crazy, but there really are aspects of grieving that can be explained and even quantified and being around a small group of other folks who have recently lost a parent is truly giving me a new and better outlook. Plus we have counselors leading us along who are experienced and wise. So I take a 4 hour break now, one day a week, and drive a few towns over to participate in a 2 hour gathering then drive back home, usually, utterly drained of emotion...which is good...because I sleep like a log and then can process things even more the next day.

And I guess that's another way to say things take time. It's a process. It's a journey. It's different for everyone and each person handles grief in their own personal way. But there seem to be threads and touchstones that many folks have in common, so with this to work from, one can share, and from there, heal, in order to move on.

I have a history of losing loved ones in my family. But the last time there was a string of losses was about 30 years ago when I lost multiple grandparents, my sister and my mom all in the stretch of a few years. And so I have a history of burying myself in making things. As much as possible, excluding/ignoring the world writ large, and just making things. I guess it's an avoidance technique? Some escapism? A distraction from thinking about other things? I am not very good at self-analysis but have been looking for patterns as I begin to wake up here, look back, and think again.

I'm not sure how far I can take this grieving process in my blog. I'd hope to pick up some of the pieces to resume the joy of life "behind the gallery" view, in that more happy sense. It's been pointed out to me that after such a large loss, a person goes forward changed, it's inevitable and inescapable. So I'm not sure what that actually "means" but I guess I will begin to find out and share what I can here!