Inga M. Beck

Some time ago I was feeling an urge to blog but my mind was a blank. I asked a friend, hey, what should I write about? Can you give me some inspiration? Not really expecting an answer he said I should write about things I need to write about. I should write about things that matter to me, things I really care about, things that matter to me… things that are in some way a part of my soul I guess.

Today I did just that. After many days of late hours and challenging, hard work I took a walk with my dog, sat down on a rock down by the sea, pulled the pen and little notebook out of my pocket and I wrote, and I want to share what I wrote with you, because maybe someone will understand, or someone will find it helpful. And moreover because it’s helpful for me. Writing helps me.

“When I think of angels, I think of you” … and I think of you every day. It’s bitter sweet. I wish all my thoughts about you were of when you were alive and smiling, and not of that awful day 14 months ago. I wish… I wish so many things.

New places don’t put away old memories. Some dull them a bit, distract you from them, but most seem to just put them in new perspective. Luckily for me it seems to usually be for the better. Sometimes they change nothing at all, you grow, but your memories, especially the hard ones stay with you all the same, gnawing at your heart.

I’ve been in a new place for a month now. Something about this place seems to bring me closer to some memories. In this case, for almost every day I have thought about that day. I had to tell my disabled mother that she had lost her only son, my lovely older brother, my childhood hero, in a car accident. It’s a tough memory, and while I had my sisters with me, holding each others hands, embracing and supporting each other, they are not near me now.

While it takes its toll, thinking about this all the time, it is at the same time a good feeling. It’s as if I can finally start to really work through those feelings and memories that before only came in painful bursts. Now they seem to just come in with the tide, riding the waves softly.

This may be due to the fact that enough time has passed for me to think and talk of it calmly, without feeling that I am holding something back in a mental straitjacket. But I believe it is more due to the setting that has me locked in its embrace. Being again, so close to the sea, so close to the mountains, so in harmony with the forces of nature that took my brother away. It has brought my spirit back to the way it was when he and I were kids. Playing in the sand, running in the grass, fishing fry with our mother’s kitchen sieve… happy, free.

I spent four months abroad last year, trying to heal, trying for a little while to forget. I didn’t. I grew, I aged, I learned and I even loved a a little, but I didn’t heal and I didn’t forget. It wasn’t time yet.

I don’t think I can ever heal completely. Losing someone that dear to you leaves a gap in you that can not be filled. But I think in time that gap will stop hurting because I will have gathered memories to store in it. I will dig deep within the database of memory and move those special times we had together to display in there for me to admire and reminisce about.

So to those out there who are waiting to heal, trying to cover the bleeding wounds on your soul. Give it time. Give it air. Some sun. Some rain. The bleeding will stop.
And if you can, get a summer-job in a beautiful small town, work with and meet nice new people and spend time with yourself, for yourself. Love life.