A late birthday present from my oldest and dearest friend, Martha Carroll Bloom. (We are always fashionably late with gifts.)
“Dearest Anne Moss, I saw this heart and decided to donate it to your #griefheart project. The artist cried when I told her where the heart was going. Here’s praying you continue to put the pieced of your heart back together–one stitch at a time. Lots of love, Martha.”
The #griefheart project gives us permission to grieve, honor and remember our loved ones that died by suicide.
The car is second only to the shower when it comes to best places to cry. Sometimes it’s a memory that triggers the tears. Sometimes it’s a song on the radio that reminds me of Charles. I am not afraid of them nor am I ashamed of them.
Letting them out brings relief and reminds me how much I loved my boy.
Sometimes it does feel like a hole has been burned in my heart. While that hole will never be completely filled, I believe it can heal. Giving back and being part of something bigger than yourself is part of that process.
Charles loved the bizarre. The odder it was, the better. From the jokes he told to the raps he wrote, he saw the world from a unique viewpoint. Which is what made him so special.
I have to wonder about the artist that created this. Nobody normal cooks up an iron pig with a heart, right? Just the sort of crazy, creative $#(+ Charles would invent if he happened to be into sculpture. His suicide ended what would have been a most interesting journey. I miss that so much–his alternative view of the world.