ohhellocrissy

oh HIYA

I have a new computer. My taxes are done and I’m receiving a refund that is commiserate with the amount of difficulty I had in filing them. I appreciate the balance. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I mention that because it’s amazing how having a few stressful things of one’s plate will really create the room to do some of the other things you have on the back burner of the stove.

I’m here to talk about grief. “OH YEAH!” you say, as you creep back out of the room and off to a more fluffy delightful part of the internet. Wait, come back! I promise it’s a mostly happy story. Mostly. I does start with the passing of the most amazing cat ever (Murphy), actually no, that’s not true. It actually starts with my deep(en)ing)) depression. Shit, no it starts before that, it ACTUALLY starts with. Fuck. No. The trauma is honestly unceasing. Right? Are we all experiencing the near constant stream of trauma and traumatic adjacent events? What I’m actually trying to say is that after many months of losing any desire to create. After losing any desire to do much of anything other than order ok pizza delivery (thanks domino’s, your garlic Parmesan bread twists are truly delicious) I finally found a thing I wanted to create.

Or, I found a thing I wanted to create with. Oil pastels.

oh TURNING GRIEF INTO SOMETHING

I began to reach for oil pastels, which felt like reaching for big crayons in the best possible way. I don’t often work with oil pastels, not for any reason other than I’m bad at sketching and drawing consistently and those skills are often needed for oil pastels. But! They are fun and if you smash them into the paper for long enough, they look “like art”. I wanted the smashing. I think that is because by the time I decided to create again, I was angry. I was mad that the softest and most lovely part of my life was no longer there.

Finding joy in destructive creation

oh HERE ARE SOME PHOTOS

oh MEMORIES

A lot of what I made was based on photos of the aurora borealis I watched with Murphy. Even now I’m tearing up thinking about it. I such an affection for the northern lights and watching them from a tiny window in a tiny room she and I were living in felt like a glimpse of hope and possibility. And it was not long after that I found an apartment for her and I to share.

But the reality was that we only had a few more months, a few more weeks, left to be together. Her health shifted so drastically that I barely remember anything other than trying to keep her comfortable and alive during that time. I’d leave for work and start to worry that when I got home I’d come in to find her no longer alive.

She was an angel until the end. And saying I miss her is an understatement. But, I think I will always miss her. Even when years from now, I will miss her. She taught me so much about living, about love, about how to just be. Loving her helped me to grow more than I can quite express. So I’m going to stop trying. Murphy was the best and I was lucky to get to care for her for the few years we were together. She is and will forever remain, sweet angel baby.

oh GOODBYE

If you’ve made it this far. Wow! Thanks! I appreciate you. This post was rambling, and that’s not always fun. By way of thank you, here is a picture of me and Murphy, the sweetest angel baby