Widowz Healing Blog

When I was first reeling from the news of Mike’s death, the image that came to mind was of turning into goo – just like a caterpillar does.  It deconstructs in the cocoon and melts into goo.  The imaginal cells then move into action to reform the goo into a butterfly.  I was pushed into the goo.  I feel like I am still in the goo now.  Sometimes I feel like I have an inkling of what’s next, that my imagination, my imaginal cells are creating something new.  It’s not yet clear, it’s still mostly goo.

A few weeks later, a second image came to mind . . . I was flattened like Bozo the Clown.  When I was a child, we had a blow-up punching bag of Bozo the Clown.  You could punch it to the ground, and it would right itself because of the weighted bottom.  I feel like I was punched to the ground.  There are times when it seems I am righting myself, and other times when I am flattened again.  Bozo always came back to standing up and I know I will, too.