Q O F E!


Q O F E!

She had finally reached the age of freedom. It had only taken 60 years, but then she had always been a late bloomer. Puberty hit in all its drama and confusion somewhere between 38 and 40. Not the boobs, pubic hair and period stuff, rather the emotional struggle to grow into the person she was born to be.

Her husband, slightly stunned, sometimes terrified, often amused, joined her on the ride. It was a bumpy couple of years. There were moments, she was sure, when he was tempted to jump off the train of turmoil, but he loved her, so he strapped himself in and rode with her to the terminus. She was so glad he did, for when she reached her destination life was better than ever, for both of them.

During the journey they learnt to talk, really talk, about the things they had been holding inside, protecting, because they were fragile. The fine black lace cobwebs hanging in the rooms of their youth were slowly swept away. They experienced a newfound peace, no longer afraid of the hairy black spiders of their pasts.

She shared the pain of her childhood. The insidious cruelty of her sometimes loving mother, her father’s escape into the oblivion of alcohol, her inability to make friends because she was afraid a friend would see the hidden truth of her home. The more she shared her innermost self, the more she came to realize she had spent most of her life up until that time in a half world or pretence. Even with him, her husband lover, her friend, she had often worn a mask, afraid he would not love her if she let him in to the locked, web draped rooms of her truth.

He in turn shared his stories of crippling shyness, fear of rejection, how raised voices could cause his stomach to contract to the point of vomiting.   He shared secret woundings that were not hers to repeat.

As a result of their joint sharing scar tissue formed, their bond of love was strengthened, they were more, and they were stronger. Together they discovered the serenity to be found in silence, once truth has been shared.

And now he was gone! His life ended in an instant, and for a time she felt hers had too. But as the waves of grief lessened in intensity and frequency allowing space for memories, she reflected on that time of shared growth, felt again the power of lived truth, and realized she could go on. Not only would she survive, she would live a wider truth, a truth that empowered her.  She had faced monumental loss, her only child and her husband both dead. She no longer feared death, but more importantly, she no longer feared life. She was free.

With the freedom to live without fear, the gift of loving friends and family, and the serenity of her home she was – Queen of Fucking Everything.

 Tricia 30/11/11

About triciabertram

I have written all my life. Writing helps me to make sense of a world I often don’t understand. Poetry is my supreme solace, closely followed by literature and music. When my son ended his life in 1999 I embarked on the most difficult journey of my life, my grief journey. To survive in this unknown, harsh landscape I had to write. It was for me, the only way I could even begin to move forward. Then in 2009 my darling husband died suddenly and so my journey continues. I write about other issues but because of my life experience, grief and death are continuing themes in my writing life. In our culture I believe there is a fear of death, an inability to accept the inevitability of our mortality, and this creates enormous difficulties for the bereaved and those around them. I have begun this blog in the hope I will create a small ripple in the pond of fear that is currently drowning the reality of death and grief. I will continue to skim the stones of my truth, watch them bounce, and see how many ripples I can make.

Posted on December 1, 2011, in Short Stories. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Oh how i love qofe !

  2. I’m becoming quite fond of her myself. Politically correct she is not!

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