I experienced funerals. I found a place in school again. I told myself 30 was a good time for new beginnings. I didn't know how much of a fresh start that would be. I felt a panic creeping in that heralded its way for years. My ribs opened. I wanted to break through the armor. I wanted to grow a billion acres inside me. All I felt was a heart attack on its way. San Diego. Las Vegas. The road between. Our last trip together. When Jeff and I broke, when I moved out, when I juggled and pretended to be good at it, I waited in the bathtub for my heart to stop. I figured it would, and what a pain it would be for Melissa to come home to teach a cello lesson and deal with my dead weight. But all I had to do was slow down. All I had to do was wander and get lost. I saw a lot of San Francisco. And Simon said he hated me. A lot. Then he turned 4 and decided he just hated my shoes. Or my hair. Or my socks. Grief is hard on 4-year-olds too. We learned to draw together and finally I could hug him again without his squealing no. I blamed myself for taking care of myself in ways that hurt anyone else.
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Heidi KraayProcess notes on a work in progress. This page serves to invite you into the way I work, with intermittent posts to show you the hows and whys on the whats I make, as well as prompts and ideas I bring to certain workshops. There will also be some raw, rough content found in notebooks written years ago, previously posted on: Archives
March 2021
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