Nothing But Grey

I woke feeling adrift.

I woke with pain and sadness and anger.

Of course I did.

My mother died November 30th,

Cause of death:

Chronic alcoholism.

Mommy is dead.

My father died 6 years ago and the next day I was

my mothers keeper.

I spent the next  6 years of my life in alcoholics dementia Hell

and so did my family.

Caring for my mother was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

Her dementia tore her apart.

That ripping tore into my heart

and into the life of my family.

Alcoholism, again, causing wreckage.

I woke with pain and sadness and anger.

Of course I did.

Grief is settling in for its long Winters nap.

My mother is dead and I am exhausted.

My father is dead.

Daddy is dead.

It seems I am just now recognizing his absence.

Grief on Hold is pounding down


My parents are dead.

I have been sucker punched.

I have  the Five Stages of Grief,

I have the Twelve Steps,

I have some semblance of sanity,


I feel like I got nothing.

Nothing but grey.

Nothing but grey.


in a floaty, adrift, sad  kind of way,


~ by Step On a Crack on February 11, 2012.

19 Responses to “Nothing But Grey”

  1. Hold on, hold on sweetie. Please.


  2. You are taking steps as well, baby steps on the road to recovery. Go ahead and look back, but don’t stop moving forward.


  3. I love ya honey! I get it … shit doesn’t wash away that easily. I pray for better days … JUST a wee bit more light would be wonderful … Peach and love ….. m


  4. Jen, I only found your blog today… I think through Bipolarmuse, but how isn’t as important as the fact I did. I cannot truly comprehend your grief, the loss you’ve endured for so long now, even if it has reached a climax so recently. But I do understand the damage caused to a family by alcoholism. And I know people I will never see again, I remember smiles that will never be again… I wish I could say that you stop feeling the loss, but you don’t. It’s always there. It just doesn’t hurt as much someday. You live and you realize, that no matter what, you’re doing what you should be, and that those you’d lost, would want you to.

    That doesn’t make you miss them less. But it makes you remember them more fondly.


    • Thank you for your words that are obviously born of Loss. I am sorry you can relate and I am grateful for your sharing your wisdom.

      I think you are so right! When people say “time heals’ I have come to think “not so much. Time is just time”

      I think the grief stays and becomes part and parcel of who I am. I think when I look at it this way I can use that info to deepen the relationships I have NOW. Knowing that life is tenuous can be a gift.

      Thank you VERY much for stopping by. You are a wise woman.

      Peace, Jen


  5. I am sorry you have to be sad. I am glad you are willing to be sad. You’ve been swimming with purpose and determination. It’s okay, desirable, necessary to float, to drift sometimes.

    Treading water can be a way to avoid, to stay stuck. Treading water can also be the way we pause to rest, get our bearings, and return to the swim. I happen to think you deserve a pause now and then, even though it may leave you more aware of your fatigue. ~ Peace, Paulann


    • Paulann, This is odd: I have been standing in the hallway that overlooks the pool at the Y. I have been watching the swimmers, some old, some young, swim lap after lap. I just lean my head on the window and watch. I marvel at their stamina and their strokes. I am not a strong swimmer. I was a fast runner (Hip replacement 8 months ago due to a long running career; ending my running) “ended my running” wow. I just noticed that. I long to learn to swim with confidence and a smooth stroke. I need to end my running. I am assured by hospice that my grief is normal. I don’t buy it.

      I am tired of being sad.

      Maybe I need to get in the pool and learn to swim ehh? My Sauna club Women, all over 70, tell me, “get a lesson. Get in the pool” They have never steered me wrong.

      neither have you….

      Thank you, Jen


  6. Jen, I tend to agree with you, “not so much. Time is just time.”
    Grey, “the blues”, from what I know of you so far, you is ALL about colour! And grey is on that palette. Sometimes.
    I love your friend Paulann’s talk of treading water. She sure sounds special.


    • Color! You are right. Funny thing is, I wear only black all the time. I mean ALL black all the time. Old punk habits die hard : )

      Paulann IS special! Actually, she is a gifted therapist who works with Kids!!

      Check out her blog


      She just might be the resource you are looking for!

      She is a very Special Woman…

      Thank you for being here. really.

      Peace, Jen


  7. Hello Jen, what a sad poem. But then dementia is very hard. I have a friend whose grandmother has dementia, she is now so far gone that she doesn’t recognize anybody although she still can function quite reasonably when it comes t to daily things like eating and drinking. Grandmother seems to be happy, but her family are quite distressed. An awful thing to live through.
    Steph xx


    • Hello Steph!

      I am so sorry you friend has to go through this! It is HARD!

      I can’t shake so many memories of all the people in the homes my mom was in. So many people with really advanced dementia and no one to visit them. Really really sad. My husbands grandfather had Alzheimers and in some ways (many ways actually) I wish my mom had had that instead of alcoholics dementia. She always knew what was going on; that is tragic AND it was her path. My mom never would have gotten to the happy dementia phase. It is awful: all dementia is awful. I really have empathy for anyone with dementia and for their caretakers. I always will.

      XO Jen


  8. You always find the most amazing illustrations for your posts. I gasped.
    Have you seen Sarah Plain and Tall, yet? It is so good, most libraries carry it.

    Time does not heal. That is fact.

    Healing does take time, though, cannot happen overnight. It is for our protection that we CANNOT process all the grief at once. Grief is a sort of co-death. To process it all at once, we would die.


  9. Jen…perfect illustration of where you are. I hope you find your own way to cope with the grief. I used to swim and cry. No one knew. That was the point.

    What encourages me is that you are being honest. It starts with being as honest with yourself as possible and then choosing how much to share. Thank you for choosing to share with us. It’s a privilege to follow your path, whether you walk it or swim it.


  10. […] Nothing but Grey […]


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