STRONG

Here's another completed journal page.  I think it's completed but then again, I never really know for sure.  It's about finding your strength when strength is doing it's best to hide. Specifically, it's about the strength required to go on and make a new life after a loved one takes their life, or in my case, after two loved ones leave this earth through suicide.  You may not understand this type of pain (I hope you do not) but we all have pain in our life and times when it seems that STRONG is hiding, when STRONG has disappeared, when STRONG is not an option. Please remember, strong is the only option.  You may not believe in your own strength, but you're still here.  And that, my friend, it the first step.

Insomnia

I never struggled with insomnia, never understood the concept. I would be asleep before my head hit the pillow and stayed blissfully asleep throughout the night.  Then I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 1993, and that's pretty much when the wonders of restorative sleep became a vague memory.  There are many nights when it seems impossible to get "comfortable enough" to even fall asleep, let alone stay sleeping.  These past several years have been especially difficult due to family issues and unemployment woes.  My head whirls and twirls and rarely shuts down. So yeah, I now get the whole insomnia thing.  Unfortunately.  Here's a page I completed a few months ago which gives a hint of the crazy stuff running through my brain while I'm trying to sleep.  Take a peek and then crack open your journal and create a work of art!

1959

Another journal page, one that makes me quite happy.  This two page spread has to do with past memories,  specifically from when I was 4 years old.  I had quite a few adventures that year!  Yes, I vividly remember being 4; my earliest memory goes back to when I was about 18 months old. I used to think everyone remembered like me but I realize now that's not the case.  I've been told I have a photographic memory and I think that must be true.  I'm the one family and friends come to for all those tricky questions that begin "remember that person who..." Yes, I remember them.  I remember their birthday, I remember where they lived, I remember the maiden name of their mother, and I remember how their eyes looked on a sunny day. Anyway, 1959 was such a full year that I decided to journal about my many exploits.  I hope you enjoy this peek and maybe get a great idea for a page of your own!

1959 - journal spread with tags folded  

1959 - journal spread with tags open

Oh, Hello.

Ooops.  It's been awhile since I've posted, and for no good reason.  Or maybe for many good reasons?  I've been busy with things too boring to discuss but important none the less. My art journal has become my new best friend, giving me needed escape and helping to keep me somewhat sane.  I can't imagine where I'd be without art.  I'm grateful to grab some time drawing and cutting and glueing and creating something that makes sense to me, all in the confines of my journal.  I've decided to TRY to post regular photos of some of the completed (are they ever really completed?) pages, as a few of my loyal followers have requested.  

Falling into Place.

CONTINUING...

Continue
Part of Speech: verb
Definition: persist, carry on

                         Life is to be lived, not controlled, 

     and humanity is won by continuing to play 

    in the face of certain defeat.  

Ralph Ellison

I've been having so much fun with my journal and new techniques, it seems I've forgotten I have a blog.  Every day brings much of the same: I look for a job in the morning, apply or find nothing, get discouraged, and spend the afternoon with my art journal.  Painting, drawing, cutting, pasting, just like kindergarden.  My mind may be troubled but my emotions run free on the pages of my journal.  It's helped keep me relatively sane, and when I think back to that magical weekend in April with Dyan Reaveley and friends, I feel happy and carefree.  

journal page in process

journal page - I Want to Know

journal page - Courage

Graduations and celebratory parties are everywhere.  Beth would be graduating from high school and moving on to new things.  I guess in a way she did, just not in the way anyone planned.  I miss her terribly.  I miss her humor and creativity and insight.  I miss her laugh.  I miss seeing her reaction to my latest artistic adventure.  I just miss her.  I continue to go to the LOSS group, and it continues to help.  I continue to heal and I think I will continue to heal for the rest of my life.  Life continues on and I know I will continue to miss Beth for the rest of my life, too.  People say endings are hard but continuing can be harder still. Nothing to do but keep on keeping on.

Journal page - Ups & Downs

Stencils and Sprays and Dy...OH MY!

I just spent the most fabulous weekend at The Scrapbooking Studio in Moline, IL with the most fabulous Dyan Reaveley.  I am adjective impaired when it comes to describing 16 hours of classes with this lady, or perhaps I have too many descriptive words?  Either way, I couldn't begin to do justice to the atmosphere and energy Dyan provided every minute of the entire weekend.  I laughed, I learned, I created, I was in awe of the techniques she taught and the art we created.  She couldn't be more genuine or giving of herself, her talent, her life. Beyond awesome.  Art from the heart indeed, the only way to go.  The fibro kicked my ass both days; I could barely walk today but I'd think about the fun and the art and I smiled a big happy smile.  I traveled with my art chicks Linda and Marilynn, and other than the fact that I view speed limits as mere suggestions, I do believe we all had a marvelous time AND we got there and back safe and pretty darn quick. We saw old friends, met new ones, ate wonderful food, and shared a bathroom without a single fist fight.  It was truly a weekend I'll never forget.

Linda, Marilynn, and me.
AKA: The Naughty Table

Dyan (with her mustache) and I smiling pretty.

It was an unforgettable weekend for a different reason as well. It was the first time since Beth's death that I've ventured out. I've taken a few on-line classes and gone to my art group, but nothing this big.  Home has been my refuge, my safe place, and I'm quite happy being there.  For the longest time I couldn't even imagine having the energy or desire to want to commit to a weekend like this.   But then Dyan came around and I took a big step and realized once I was there that there was exactly where I was supposed to be.  I thought of Beth often over the two days I spent in class and so wished I could tell her all about Dyan; she would have loved her spirit and confidence and her crayon RED hair.  

I'm healing.  A small part of me thinks I shouldn't be, like if I'm feeling better I might forget.  I know, like I could ever forget Beth...but there's a small tinge of guilt none the less.  Beth would be the first to tell me to get on with my life, to enjoy,  to go out and make a difference, to laugh TOO loud.  I miss her so much.  I also know healing is the correct word, never healed.  When you love someone and they die, you are forever changed.  The grief never leaves, you never heal, you're never "over it."  You adjust and adapt and feel better much of the time and then WHAM, you hear a song or smell a smell and it's like you're back at the start again, feeling like you got kicked in the gut.  I feel like I've been kicked in the gut a lot less, so that's healing for me.  I think of Beth every day, I talk to her, and I can even sometimes smile now when I do; that's healing for me. And this weekend with Dyan?  That was truly healing for me, too.  

Laugh too loud.  Thank you, lovely Dyan,
for sharing your spirit with me!

Dear Beth

It's been one year since your pain ended and ours began.  One year ago I could never have seen myself here, one year later. When it first happened, I couldn't even imagine getting through a day.  How could I possibly live with a shattered heart?  I can't answer that question because my heart remains shattered but I am still here.  I can now put together a somewhat cohesive sentence.  I can talk about you without crying...not all of the time, but some of the time. I spent a great deal of this past year refusing to believe it was true, but even my creative little mind couldn't keep up that facade forever.  It is true, I know that now; my refusals to believe lost out to your obvious absence.  I talk to you every day.  I do things in memory of you instead of for you or with you.  I miss you so bad I ache, and then I think about your Dad and Mom who lost their baby girl, or your sister who is now an only child.  I can't begin to comprehend the incomprehensible pain they live with every day, but they are still here, too.  We all are.  You're the one who's missing and missed, by more people than I could ever know.  Seventeen years hardly seems like a life; I wanted so much more for you, for me, but it was all you could do.   I get that, I really do.  I'm working hard on being happy that you're at peace instead of selfishly wanting you back at any cost.  So my hope and prayer for you today is that you're experiencing peace and love and you know just how much of a difference you made in oh so many lives. You deserve that and so much more.  And my hope and prayer for me today, and for all those left behind, is exactly the same. May we experience peace and love and may we know just how much of a difference you made in oh so many lives, because right now that's all I've got so it's got to be enough. I love you forever and a day, sweetie.