Owls and Orchids

“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
― Rose Kennedy

image courtesy of diabroticd.wordpress.com

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There are times when, for no apparent reason, we feel depressed and alone. Grief wells up and carries us away for a time. Then there are the times when we know why we feel as though our insides have been ripped apart.  There are also times when the knowledge of why isn’t enough to pull you through the barrier to the next level and we can begin to move forward again.

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As this full moon draws closer it seems it has been a time of  reflection on those we have lost and the memories they evoke. At times they can be bittersweet memories and as I type this I’m listening to the mournful call of my Mopoke owl.  Normally I’m thrilled to hear him and on one level I still am. Yet I cannot help but associate that sound with the mournful calls I heard on the long nights I used to babysit in England when  the wind blew and whistled around the house causing chills to run up and down my spine. There were plenty of owls calling throughout the nights there on the edge of the Yorkshire moors.

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image courtesy of lovetoescape.com

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It’s a strange feeling since most of my memories of the moors are the idyllic days spent in the heather, listening to the birdsong, my dog by my side, watching cotton puff clouds lazily float across the sky. We would picnic under the blue sky and visit Haworth Manor, home of the Bronte’s.  Perhaps they are so closely linked to my family it’s the reason I’m thinking about them so much now.

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image courtesy of north-york-moors.co.uk

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So for the past week I’ve been remembering all those I’ve loved and lost, here and back in “the old country” and remembering the times we spent together walking the sheep trails through the heather. As the weather warms up so quickly I’m reminded of the fresh breezes on the moors and how we could walk for miles without turning into a puddle of perspiration.

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My grandparents were all left behind in England. My parents I lost here, my mother only a short time ago.  They try to say “time heals all wounds” but I think it’s more we become better at handling the painful memories of loss. When those losses coincide with Christmas – well, it’s as though a knife is jabbed into an open wound and it’s as raw and fresh as the day it happened.

So,  this full moon I’m releasing the hurts of lost loved ones.  I will endeavor to pull memories of happier times from the memory vault and try not to let the sadness of not sharing a special day with them make me feel too sad, at least for my children’s sake. I will share stories of the madcap things we all did together – in the heather and around the Christmas tree, and of course in the snow!

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image courtesy of gsp-shadow.blogspot.com

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Yes, the memories are bittersweet, especially at this time, but there are many more happy memories and those are the ones I’ll share. The sadness I’ll carry for a while longer, although I have a shoulder to lean on now. In time everything changes, yet everything stays the same.

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image courtesy of lilliesloves.wordpress.com

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“Sometimes, however much you plan, however many precautions you take, something happens, and in a minute the world is changed. After that, you’re the person on the other side of that minute.”
― Frederick Weisel, Teller