Comfort

I've been thinking about what brings me comfort.  You know, the kind of comfort people talk about when you've lost someone close.  The comfort in a time of loss kind of comfort.  I'm not entirely convinced that there is such a thing.  From my perspective, I feel marginally better for a moment.

Solitude.  I recently went away with my sister and my mum and had many moments of solitude.  It was bliss.  I was completely alone with my thoughts.  Sitting with my favourite coffee in the middle of a forest overlooking a lake!  Me and my thoughts.  It was somehow comforting.  Fleetingly.  I so quickly get jarred back to reality.  My thoughts go quickly to my Dad.  Happy thoughts.  Fond memories but then the pain of the loss punches you in the stomach.  Unawares.  Winded. Ugh!   Oh yeah... food.  Food brings me comfort.  It's momentary and in some cases, costly.  Ugh!  Moment on the lips and all that.  Oh well.

An image of days gone by.  Comforting.  I think of my grandparents.  My Dad's parents.  Again, I feel such warmth and comfort thinking of them.  I know that one day, I'll be able to think of my Dad that way and not feel this pain of loss so acutely that it almost paralyses me.

Innoncence of children.  I love watching my granddaughter and my niece.  They are the same age and the best of friends.  They play.  They talk.  They're almost oblivious of the pain around them.  Of course though they're not silly.  Suddenly one of them, both of them will for no apparent reason come up to me, hug me and tell me that they love me.  Back to play.  Its comforting somehow that their little worlds just carry on regardless.

An unfinished portrait.  An unfinished painting.  Sitting waiting for me to pick up my brushes again.  I like it like that.  At the moment, I don't want to finish it.  Something's stopping me.  I think I know what it is but I can't say.  I love to just walk past it every day as I go to sit at my computer.  She stares at me all day.  Please finish me.  I know I will but for now, I'm happy how she is.

Working.  I'm really working.  For the first time in my life I've started to breakthrough some major fears and do what I've always wanted to do apart from being a Mum.  That was my goal in life when I was a child.  Be a Mummy. 

For a long time, I've not known what to do since my beloved children flew the nest.  I've been up and down like a yo you.  Depression.  Low self-esteem.  Severe lack of self confidence.  All I've known is that I love creating art.  I love working on my computer.  I met my husband through my love of art and computers.  He's always told me how good we'd be together - working.  He has the same dreams and passions.  So guess what??  I'm working with him doing what I love.  Art.  Computer.  Turn my passions into a business.  I'm setting up a limited company.  I'm doing accounts.  I'm building a website.  I'm doing administration.  I love it.  I'm sad that I can't phone Dad and tell him.  I want to tell him we're using his accountant.  I want to tell him I'm learning about SWOT analysis.  Oh and I'm doing a business plan and profit and loss forecasts.  Its a small business - just me and Steve - I need to do all these things though.  They're not vital to our success.  We're already successful.  The very fact we're working together already is enough.  The measure of our success isn't about pounds ££££ and pence.  It's about the passion in creating our art.  It's the passion we feel about what we do and why we do it.  One day, very soon, I need to share "our story"!

I do these things because they're helping me overcome so many fears.  I'm doing them so I can prove something to myself.  I love the feeling of this comittment.  The start of something fresh and new.  A promise to ourselves is coming to fruition.  Working through the fears has been happening slowly over the past few years.  Dad dying seemed to be a catalyst in me facing the final hurdle.  And jump it!

There is comfort in what I do every day.  Small comfort.  But its there and tangible.