A heart purge


I sit in the lounge chair, snug within its cushioned arm rests. Bodies sprawl across bean bags and couches with dogs snuggled between legs. Cherry ripe wrappers and crunching, chicken chips.

Well-built men in red and navy tight shorts run across an immaculate ground on T.V., competing for the ball and a place in the football finals. Amongst the cheers and boos comes son one playing Bach’s Toccata et Fuga in the sunroom. The contrast of flourishes with spiralling gloom befits the game being watched where one team will win and the other will lose.

It feels like months since I wrote my last blog. A time to think and reflect has not presented lately.

A birthday has been and another is to come soon, of boys that are suddenly almost six-foot tall men. Dinner with family and roller blade testing in the street, which undoubtedly has seen falls on butts. And tomorrow, boy two will begin his first, steady part-time job in a local ice cream shop, the perfect fit for this sweet tooth lad.

Birthdays and cake at school, and meetings to prepare boy three for learning next year. His eyes of depth now almost eyeball mine – this time next year, they will. His last school arts festival has been and gone with an energy that pounded from the school gates on the beat of the bongo drums. Laughter and rich chatter mixed with sizzling sausages in the school yard.

Long love morphs into something else and new love is tempered as warmed gold radiating a beating heart. Shy glances, inconspicuous yet connecting, a warmth inextricably linked by a thousand soul fibres.

There’s been travel to a conference in another city and workshops to facilitate, deep thinking about how people can engage better and opportunities to give all people. Old colleagues reunite and new friendships ignite with the spark from a glowing light shining uncontained. Connections. And then home again to much disarray to sort and tidy to be done.

Forming fruit nudge blossoms off their apricot and plum tree perches and dogs that once bounded as clumsy puppies begin to bask and sleep for longer in warming sunshine. Orange blossoms and fresh grass clippings.

The inability to do what was always done and the acceptance of that loss of independence that comes after a long life on Earth. Loss, dependence and acceptance are traits most difficult to acknowledge and allow, for those experiencing and those watching on.

And darker still are the private desperations of another revealed, a desire to end life. The warmth of gold gone to gun metal blue. No one deserves to feel such sorrow.

Tomorrow continues with son one playing his football final. I won’t dare disturb his usual morning routine. I know all too well of this ticking mind of my focussed boy. He’ll be strategising and processing, the cogs of his brain almost visible as the mechanical machine it is.

I’ve missed my blog more than I realised I had. The thinking and reflecting, the clearing of thoughts in much the same way as a five kilometre run can blow the cobwebs clear from my head.

It’s a heart dump, an expression of that purge through written words. I’ve missed the chance to do that, to write.

The seasons change for a time, always a fleeting time. Onwards and upwards they say.

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