The Bunny Girl. Saturday April 28, 2018
She was 54 when she died. 1979. A sudden death. A massive stroke. Ripped away from the world so violently that it left life and love hanging suspended in the air.
She died too. Inwardly. Instantly. Bars of sorrow sprung up and caged her. She couldn't see wood for trees. The regular heartbeat of the working day eventually provided need and with it a tenuous purpose. Retirement came as soon as it was offered. And then...
Well, the "old folks" needed feeding. A lunch club was launched and she was a founder, offering her help to receive, serve and clean up three times a week. On Fridays there was a bit of fun after, an extended day. Bingo, records and singing or games.
With it came a small social life. And weekends away. A group of like-minded women. Somewhere to belong.
Would it have been her choice? No. But it was what she had. It claimed her. She found herself swimming at an age she never thought she'd be swimming. She found herself in Blackpool long after the hey days of her younger years had passed. She laughed again! She found herself asking her granddaughter (me) where she could get footless tights, ears and a bunny tail... for one night only she was to become a Bunny Girl in the twilight of her days. She laughed about that for the remainder of her days.
We can't predict nor shape what is given to us. We can cling to the thread that day follows night, that our breath goes in and out and that our steps fall, one foot in front of the other, without thinking too much about it. Acceptance is all. Go forward even though, step out even though, eat even though, wash even though, exercise even though, get out of bed even though. It doesn't save you. You save you.
The room above the garage
A Moodscope member.
(In memory of my granny, the tiny warrior)
Thoughts on the above? Please feel free to post a comment below.