mobile navigation
Blog - Dolly Sen

The Art of Grief

FacebookTwitter
Dolly and her Dad

Dolly and her Dad

My dad died a couple of weeks ago. I did cry but I wasn’t sure what I was crying for. There is a saying that ‘grief is love unfinished’, but for some grief is love not yet begun. I have written on DAO before about my relationship with my dad.

I spent my childhood perpetually holding my breath, waiting for the time it was safe to breathe. I am still waiting. I won’t detail the abuse, only the hurt it has left me with. The voices I have on repeat is what he said to me. He wished I were dead, I keep hearing him tell me, until I become so far removed from my life, that I am a ghost, haunting only myself, terrifying only myself. My madness was shaped by his hands like clay. The clay is only there to hold the hole, the negative space.

I have had therapy, which has helped – a bit. My dad was not my only abuser, but he was the most prominent conductor of my head’s distress. Therapy turned down the volume of his song, but it is still loud and clear, for he has written the score.

I have tried to write my own score, but the only notes I have are silence. I was going to be a doctor, but the consistent bending of bone and brain did break me. There is a part of me that is too broken to love the thing that broke me. The child in me still loves him. The adult in me says I don’t need his love, and I don’t for the most part. Sometimes I feel that child’s sadness. I will never know what I could have blossomed into if there was less pain and more love. All I know is that I am a daisy that has pushed through the cracks, but I wish I could see beyond the fissures and fractures of fate.

So what you get is the artist me, who wants to repaint the scenery in the head and heart into something more beautiful, even though sometimes I mistrust beauty. The art of grief is the art of loneliness being reminded of itself.

So what you get is the activist me, that wants to stand between abuser and abused to battle any malicious power and to fight for the disempowered. My partner has always said to me, ‘If it wasn’t for the pain you’ve had in your life, you wouldn’t have had the amazing life you have lived since.’ That is true, I just wish I was around fully to touch that life and truly feel it.

Grief is so many things unfinished…

3
Leave a comment

avatar
3 Comment threads
0 Thread replies
0 Followers
 
Most reacted comment
Hottest comment thread
3 Comment authors
Amy Zamarripa SolisRona TopazRichard Downes Recent comment authors
  Subscribe  
newest oldest most voted
Notify of
Richard Downes
Member

Beautiful writing on a hidden wall in a dark corner. Best wishes Dolly

Rona Topaz
Guest

At one stage my father actually tried to end my life, which was the culmination of a lifetime of very severe physical and emotional abuse, which failed to kill me but left me permanently disabled. The anger I felt at having to listen to my mother and brother, weeping at the loss of this toxic, self destructive excuse for a human being, was so fierce and powerful, I could not put it into words, although he was only marginally less abusive to them-he only hit my mother once and beat my brother a few times, but never to the same… Read more »

Amy Zamarripa Solis
Guest

Really moving piece, which I can relate to a lot. It feels like a noble thing to ‘make peace’ with a parent in this scenario (or try), to have evolved within yourself, I can only imagine not an easy inner development. Not easy at all. Thank you.