Reflections On the Grief of Monet

[Lonnie]

I was going through the channels tonight when I happened on a biography of some of the famous Impressionist painters. One of the most well known is, of course, Monet. It was mentioned that when his second wife, Alice, died, he could not seem to paint. In fact, he didn't paint at all for one year. He was grieving the loss of Alice, slowly going blind, and losing all his friends to death as well. One of these friends was Renoir, another famous Impressionist. What came to my mind as I watched was what a profound effect the death of someone we love has on us. It certainly steals our motivation, stifles our creativity, affects our physical and mental health, and breaks our heart. I am sure that Monet probably spent much more time painting than he did with Alice, and yet when Alice was gone, painting was no longer predominant.
I am married to a workaholic-an attorney who specializes in adoptions. So much of his life is devoted to his clients. His days are filled with pregnant birth moms and prospective adoptive parents. And when he comes home in the evenings, his mind is still preoccupied. He never really seems to relax, or even know how to. I know that he loves me greatly, but I have often wondered what he would do if I died. Would he just throw himself even deeper into his work? I think that I have always feared he would. I sometimes think that his life would change very little with my absence. He, of course, declares this isn't true. But I found it very touching that Monet was not able to paint for a year. It spoke to me of the love he had for Alice. The documentary said that he spent several days reading her love letters that she had written to him when he would travel on his painting expeditions. And one by one, he threw the letters into the fire. It seems that he could not even bear the pain of her presence in the letters, knowing that physically he could never be with her again. It reminded me of something that one of the mothers on the Child Loss board wrote about her daughter. She said, "The absence of your presence is everywhere." I love that. It may seem deep, but think about it. Tonight I was walking through the men's department and I saw some golf shirts like my dad used to wear, and I felt that stab in my heart. It was the absence of his presence. If death teaches us anything, it should be to not take our loved ones for granted. I see people every day living as if they have forever promised to them. We don't you know. I think those of us on this board are very painfully aware of that, having lost someone close to us. As I have observed my mom trying to endure the loss of her partner of 44 years, I have noted a peace below the surface of the agony.  She says it comes from knowing that they loved each other and demonstrated it. They told each other. They showed each other.Therefore she has no regrets. That would bring a certain peace, wouldn't it? I already have regrets because my life with my husband is slipping away. I believe that I have come face to face with my own mortality, but as of yet, he has not. Because I have experienced the utter helplessness of watching a loved one die unexpectedly, I know that tomorrow is not promised. And so today is really all we can be sure of. Wouldn't life change dramatically if everyone realized that before it was too late? I wonder. There are many hurts in this world. There are times when we wish we could pack our suitcase and live alone on top of the highest mountain. And yet, when it comes down to it, we need each other. Relationships are vitally important in life. But unfortunately too many of us only realize that when we've lost someone.
What this rambling is all about, I don't know. It's another sleepless night when my heart is saddened, but I'm too tired to cry. And so I just write it all down, hoping to get some perspective on it. I think that Alice was very fortunate to have a man who loved her as deeply as Monet. I would like to mean that much to someone. Lonnie

[Irene]

Hi Lonnie,
  You write very well. I likely have told you that before. I think that it is quite common, that we do take our loved ones for granted, and don't realize what we have until it is no longer there.
  Your comment about seeing the golf shirts and how it was a painful reminder of your dad, is something that I can identify with. When those sorts of reminders creep up on me, I find it hard, as I still can't imagine living the rest of my life without my mom, and yet I have to. 
   Your caring nature is so evident in your postings. I am sure that the people you care about love you deeply, although Monet must have been more of a romantic than most people would admit to being.
   I am thinking about you Lonnie. I hope that you manage to get some rest. You certainly deserve it.

[Lonnie]

There was once a man so caught up in his painting
That his only reality was what he created on the canvas.
It was much more real than the world around him,
And so fabulously vibrant and alive.
In fact, in time he refused to use the color black
And created his shading by blending other colors.
Every picture was a rainbow of pastels
In a style defiantly uncommon.
And though the world did not accept him-
His lovely Alice did.
And because she did, he had a resilience
That would not let him give up.
And so he painted obsessively-
Often outdoors surrounded by nature,
And smiled on by angels.
And then one day, his lady died
And the painting stopped.
One by one he read her letters,
Written when he had traveled.
And he remembered their passionate love.
And one by one, he tossed them in the fire,
Unable to bear the pain of her words
When he would never hold her close again.
The absence of her presence was everywhere
And he lost his will to go on.
The darkness was falling over him,
Like a thick velvet drape on an old theater stage
And even his eyesight betrayed him.
His circle of friends was growing smaller
As the shadow of death fell on each one,
Until he alone was left.
For one year he never picked up a brush.
How great his grief must have been
To have stifled the expression of his heart.
But though his eyes were dimming,
And his very soul was buried alive,
The darkness could not suppress
The pictures that lived within him.
They were there on the inside-
Just waiting to escape.
And until he died, he painted murals
Of his water garden and lily pads,
With the arched white idyllic bridge.
And he saw a beauty that he struggled
To capture on canvas-
But never really could.
Giving the artwork to the state,
He put down his brush for the last time.
But the museums were empty,
And no one came to celebrate the glory.
It would be many years before the world
Would once again acknowledge his greatness.
And when he died, they placed a black drape
Over his lonely wooden coffin.
But a friend ripped it off with indignation,
Remembering how he hated that darkness.
And today, it is the colors we remember-
The beautiful shades of his palette-
The magnificence of his visions-
The warm pastels dancing on the page,
That death and darkness could not destroy.
For there was something inside the man
That transcended his earthly existence-
An inspiration breathed by a Divine Mentor
Into a heart that heard the call.

Lonnie
 

[Rebecca]

Lonnie: I read and post on the child loss board because  in Feb. 2005 my son, Jason, died at 31 years of age of a heart attack.  Reading your post was something.  The absence of your presence is everywhere... that says volumns for me.
Thank you for sharing that... maybe you could ask your husband to read some of the posts on the general board, etc. and maybe he will be enlighted to what his workaholic life is doing to himself and his family.  Ask him how he wants to be remembered... by the time he has spent for his clients or the time he has spent with his family.  Thank you for your post and my sympathies to your family on the passing of your Dad.  I know too when I go through the mens department I often see a shirt that would have gone so beautifully with Jason's blue eyes.  I loved to dress him and he love to dress down...but when he dressed up, he looked like he walked out of GQ.
Again, I am glad I took a step to the Main Board.
Rebecca Jason's Mom

[Lonnie]

Rebecca: I am so glad you stepped onto the Main Board also. It's funny-the other night I visited the Child Loss Board, and even posted there about the trial that Martha had been going to concerning the death of her niece.. It would do us all good to visit each other now and then! We're all grieving someone, and that helps us understand each other. In fact, it is someone on the Child Loss board that has that post about "The absence of her presence is everywhere." I don't know when a thought has touched me so deeply. It does speak volumes, doesn't it? I have shared some of the posts with my DH. I am also praying that he will get his priorities right before it is too late. I know he loves me, but it seems like other things are always stealing our time together. And when we are together, we are so happy and still very much in love. I think those of us who have lost a close loved one know that tomorrow isn't promised. It sure makes you aware of that, doesn't it? The only positive thing about it is that it should teach us to love each other and spend time with each other while we can. I am so sorry about the loss of your precious son at such a young age.  Thank you so much for posting over here. Just knock at the door anytime...and we'll let you in! LOL! So nice to meet you! Hugs-Lonnie