10 July 2010


My home is touched by grief still. Through the lovely moments with my children. Through the chatter and life. There is a space.

In between feeling like I don't want to see him or talk to him or ANYTHING I also miss him. Even with so many things to keep me busy.

Home is where my kitchen and garden feed us.
Morgan podding peas. Baby courgettes on the bush.

Where I can be free to express my creativity.

Black beans and yarn in a bucket of cold water for 48hrs = steely blue-grey yarn! Piles of coloured dye-day madness waiting to be wound into centre-pull balls.

Where we find each other. Or it was.

My home is usually my safe place, a comforting warm lovely happy space. But even so, sometimes I have that horrible helpless child-like feeling, "I want to go home", inexplicable and filled with sadness.

The wonderful Emma told me, when I was engaging in one of those late night pit-of-despair phone calls that it takes a truly wonderful friend to really understand, "Honey, maybe that's because you're NOT home." I know what she meant. I do believe that I will find that true 100% feeling of home, just the other side of the curtain. I love this life, but I may always more or less long for that one. Especially when this one seems too hard to keep going on with.

Today we went to the park. Me, my little crowd of daughters, Emma, Chris, Connor, Ashleigh, and Martin (father of my children, breaker of my heart, love of my life, yes I'm sure you see what I mean about the grief). It was a good good day. We kicked of our shoes and walked on the earth. We played. We ate icecreams. We companionably crafted in the great outdoors.

For a while I lay on a sunny bank, alone inside my head. It was good.Lying there, barefoot, in the grass, in the sunshine, I felt right. A creeping awareness of the sounds around me, the touch of the sun on my skin, the movement of the air. I felt... right... It has been a while since I felt that much at peace with where I am, this minute, this day. Then I had a sudden overwhelming sense of a huge presence, a comforting oneness. Call it what you will. I feel like I can pray again.

Back at home I am tired, and so so sad. But there is always hope.


  1. I'm so relieved that you feel you can find your voice to God again. It is an important outlet (for those who have a religion, before I offend anyone!) and I know it is one that you have found great comfort in. I'm also glad that you had that moment, however small it felt, when you felt "right".

    I hope for you that this is a start, which will gradually build. And I also think it is very important in our times of dispair, to find joy and love in the small things that still create our day to day life.

    As always, I love you, and I'm thinking of you and praying for you.xxx

  2. You are in our thoughts Sarah and we are sending sunshie filled blessings to brighten your day.

    I am so glad that you can feel that there hope contained within such a sad time, and glad too, that you have such lovely friends to support you.

    Love Gina xxx

  3. Hope you find your comfy spot soon. Glad you enjoyed those moments at the park. xo m.

  4. I had a flash while reading this, tad unusual for me but anyway, here's the message; Gaia is keeping an eye on you and your girls :-) She has tears for you, sweetheart, but she smiles, too and knows you will find the clarity you need to know what is deep in your heart.



Penny for your thoughts? :)