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When everything remains a bit gloomy despite all those colors

Autumn enchants us with the most colorful colors, the radiance of the forests almost puts the autumn sun in the shade. The light is warm and golden and if the mist is hanging over the fields in the morning, kissed by the first rays of the sun, the world seems to be enveloped by a shimmering blanket.  I have always loved autumn. I have always felt it to be a gift from nature. On the one hand because it shows us with how beautiful this world can be, on the other hand because it reminds us of the transience of everything.

When I started my blog, long before I typed the first letters into my imaginary, virtual diary, I thought about what I wanted to achieve with my typing. Do I do it only for myself, a kind of valve, just really a modern form of diary? Or do I want to make it easier for courageous women to get started in "our lifestyle" by helping them with tips and tricks? Do I want to entertain, make people think or perhaps even polarize and provoke? And how much of my private life do I want to make public?
 
I have written down strategies and worked out plans, formulated goals and concepts. All of which I then threw in the trash. In the end, my MindMap had a single word on it: authenticity. After all, I'm talking about my life. And that has its very own plans that don't adhere to any sophisticated concepts.
 
So far I have (hopefully) inspired you to make banana bread, taken you with me on my travels, given you thought-provoking impulses on the subject of being a woman and perhaps even dared to go on the rocks with my cowboy contribution. But what if not everything shines and shimmers? When creativity sticks like a viscous mass in my head, a formless lump from which nothing bubbles over and no idea emerges? Or when the colours no longer reach my innermost. Should I also write about it then? Yes. I have decided to write the most difficult and personal contribution yet and hope that it will be the last of its kind.

Today I'll tell you something about loss. One of those kinds where you know that time will not heal all wounds. A black hole that no color in the world could fill again. Loss is something deeply personal. Something that every person deals with or feels differently. There is no right or wrong.
 
I had to let my father go. His big heart was no longer strong enough and stopped beating. Just like that. From one stroke to the next. This man who was strong like a tree. Who sometimes seemed to carry the burden of the world on his shoulders. And who was nevertheless kind and generous. He was a storyteller and could carry you away with his energy into strange, past worlds. His life no longer writes new stories. And I have to continue writing mine without him.

Writing down my feelings is almost impossible. It feels a bit like screaming out loud until the lungs have no air left. And then you still scream for a second until it really hurts. After that the lungs are really pumped out, the vocal chords hurt and even the saving breath burns in the throat. And all you feel next to the pain is emptiness.
 
But do you know what the good is? I keep breathing. Breath by breath. And at some point the lungs stop burning. My symbolic breaths are spontaneous Brändi-Dog evenings (probably the best game in the world!) with friends, which also hurt the throat afterwards, but with lots of laughter. And this although I would have felt like crying at first. These moments in which you are unexpectedly embraced by a loved one in the middle of the drugstore, because sometimes embraces are more useful than the best meant words. But they are also moments in which you can simply cry because you know that the other person is not thinking "My God, it's been more than two months now, so slowly she could pull herself together a little".

It is these honest conversations with people who share a similar fate and who tell me the truth. That it takes a long time until the pain becomes less. That there will always be a gap and that even after countless years the pain can come back just as violent and unexpected as the day I learned that my daddy died. That a bad conscience is part of it. That you always wonder if you couldn't have done something more. Being able to save him.
 
My breaths are people who have long breath and still listen to my stories of Daddy after the tenth time and don't interrupt me. People who offer me refuge, where I can simply disappear into the mountains and change wallpaper. People who understand that not everything is as easy as it was a few weeks ago. And who have no expectations of me. The family that supports me, although their pain is no less than mine. And my husband, who sees me, really sees me. Who seems to read me like an open book and always turns a page at the right time.

There are so many people out there who make my breathing easier. I cannot thank you all, but let me assure you: you are my colours!
 
And all of you, who also have to struggle with blackness, do not give up! Through my own destiny I have learned how many other people, even from my immediate surroundings, have to bear the same destiny. And how much they still suffer from it. But I never asked for it. They don't talk about it anymore. It is a taboo subject in its own way. It doesn't fit into a cosy evening or a fun party. And I'm very sorry about that. I will never again, I promise you, take lightly a death that happened seven or nine or even twenty years ago. I have an open ear for you, and more importantly, I have an open heart for your pain. No matter how you grieve, don't hide it. Explain to your fellow men how you feel, for as stupid as the saying is, it is still true. Shared suffering is half suffering. At least you no longer have to carry the pain alone. And you help your fellow men to react the way you need it most. For do not forget that not everyone knows how to react. And often there are no words that fit. Do not be ashamed to cry. To be angry. Irritated. If sayings like "everything will get better" hurt you, then let us know. It was certainly not meant badly, but what should you say to someone who has just lost a loved one?
 
What gets me mad are the phrases I use myself to protect others from the unpleasant situation I put them in when I tell the truth. I stopped answering the question "How's it going?" with "Fine, thanks" or "It will be better soon". Because it is simply not true! The truth is, there are good days and there are really, really bad days. There is no expiry date for mourning, and yes, even 75 days after the worst day of my life there are still the second worst days of my life. And I have to fight myself too hard to cover it with a phrase. So don't be angry with me if - once again - I am different from what is expected of me. I'm not angry with you either if you then don't know how to react to it. Because every person is different, everyone mourns differently, everyone reacts differently. And that's okay, because in all our colours we are just the way we should be.

Don't give up and always be honest, because even if it doesn't seem to be the easiest way, it will be the easiest in the long run!
 
I think of you and thank you all!
 
Sincerely
Scarlet Rose