[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 20 September 2022].
the sacred heart of balmoral
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 16 September 2022].
'til death do us part
She wondered to herself - not for the first time - how many other's parents had set the bar for romantic relationships so high. So high that their children's expectations for their own relationships seemed a pipe dream. That anything less than what their parents had was a pale imitation. Anything else left them feeling wanting.
Her parents had shared everything. They had no secrets from each other. They trusted each other implicitly and loved each other unconditionally.
They supported and encouraged each other. Cared for each other and lost sleep worrying about each other.
They talked about everything, and they made decisions as a couple, as a partnership. All the way through their marriage until her mother's dementia meant she couldn't make decisions or talk about things in the same way.
Neither of them dictated anything to the other or made the other feel bad for asking questions. Indeed, most questions were answered before needing to be asked. Their relationship was one of open dialogue and transparency. Always.
There were never any power games. Never the sense that one made the other feel they were being given or denied a treat by being able to see the other more or less. When, how and where they met was a mutual decision. They wanted to see each other equally and showed no restraint from either side.
Her mother became part of her father's family and vice versa. She came from a very affectionate family into one less so. But her mother gradually coaxed her husband's family into the habit of hugs rather than handshakes. Growing up with an aunt whose catch-cry was "kissy-up, kissy-up" on arrival and on leaving her home encouraged her mother to engender that level of affection in her father's family. Though she saved kisses on the lips for her husband alone.
She grew up with the example of intimate and affectionate parents. Even as they grew older, she watched them reach for each other's hands as she walked along the streets of London with them. Instinctive and natural.
Their friends were their friends. Not her mother or her father's. The friendships may originally have been made or found through one. But they became mutual friends her parents spent time with, both together and apart.
There was never any compartmentalisation in their relationship, their relationships with others and their lives. They even worked together side-by-side for about 10 years.
Their weight gains and losses were irrelevant. They were the same people beneath the flesh and bones, so what did weight matter?
As her mother's dementia took hold, she saw how it broke her father's heart. His best friend, lover, partner and confidante of almost fifty years changed. Her mother saw him as a stranger, and he recognised the real her only in glimpses of lucidness. But he has never stopped loving her.
In her own life, she felt she'd never truly experienced what they had. What they have.
Others might argue that what she sought was a romantic fantasy. But she'd witnessed it growing up, so she knew it wasn't just in her imagination.
Sure, she knew their marriage wasn't perfect. Their relationship wasn't perfect. None are. But they worked through anything that might have created an issue. And came out stronger together on the other side.
But what she witnessed of their relationship over more than forty years of her life was always one of love, trust, openness, communication, honesty, affection, adoration and longevity. Damn near perfection, in her eyes.
And so far, she'd only had glimpses of pieces of what they had in her own life. Samples. Tasters. But nothing that stood up to the same tests. Nothing that lasted long enough or brought as much happiness as that she'd witnessed watching her parents as she grew from a child to a teenager, a teenager to an adult.
Everything she had experienced felt like a shadow of what she'd witnessed.
When it came to her own relationships, she viewed the possibility of something even three-quarters as good as what they'd had as a chimaera. Something she hoped for but felt she would never achieve or realise. The stuff of dreams. A fantasy.
Except she knew it could be real.
So she kept seeking it out. Hoping against hope. Believing that maybe, just maybe…
But again and again, she returned to the thought that maybe her parents had set the bar too high. Raised her expectations of what love and "forever" might be to something only achievable for a select few; for people of previous generations, perhaps. But not for her.
She thought, not for the first time: maybe she should just let go of all expectations. And forget 'til death do us part, even if it didn't involve any formal declaration or ceremony. Clearly, it wasn't meant to be.
father
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 13 June 2021].
beast of burden
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 June 2021].
As the pinkish hues were swept away by dusk descending, the day was, literally, washed away this evening.
The sky turning from warm hues to cool was accompanied by the sound of large raindrops hitting the leaves of the trees outside my bedroom window.
The raindrops landing formed a welcome chorus. Their sound was the first thing to calm and soothe me for days.
This is an accurate visual depiction of how the last 72 hours or so of my life has felt.
2021 seems to be the year that keeps giving... but, unfortunately, rarely the good stuff, so far.
For someone who dislikes a lack of control in my life - and dislikes feeling helpless or having to ask for help - this year has been a fucking doozy.
I'm trying to regain some semblance of control - at least of those things I can control - but some days (often in a row), it's really fucking hard to just keep getting up and punching on.
I hope 2021 has been better for you so far. xx
rent asunder
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 28 March 2021].
untitled #43
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 31 January 2021].
late bloomers is a new curated series of my sepulchre images that you'll notice start to creep into my Sepulchral Sunday posts from now on.
This curated series focusses on artificial flowers adorning final resting places.
I feel they can be equal parts beautiful and pathetic (in the arousing pity, especially through vulnerability or sadness definition of the word).
o tannenbaum
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 4 December 2020].