The Wind Through the Keyhole

24 Mar

Winter has passed.  I can feel it.  I’ve begun my summer sleep cycle of waking before dawn — and dawn comes earlier every morning.  Thank God.

Acknowledging the passing of the winter forces me to realize that almost a year has passed since my mother died.  I don’t … understand how that is possible.  In my mind, there is no distance between the moment of her passing and this moment.  It will always have happened just a few minutes ago.  And yet … the mind is a protective, flexible thing, isn’t it?  I don’t have to live inside that moment all the time, anymore.  I can sit quietly, in peace, without falling into tears.  Sometimes.  Recognizing that almost a year has passed forces me to look at how dark my heart has been for so much of this year.  The light has come through as a shaft of sunshine through a keyhole.


View through the keyhole, Church of St John the Evangelist, Elkstone Village.

How I love the small glances found in old churches.  It’s as if the architecture of those spaces, with their intention to be sacred, create an enclosure for broken hearts to be safe and mend.  And feel the light coming in through the keyhole.  And when you’re ready, to open the door.


8 Responses to “The Wind Through the Keyhole”

  1. Daily Presents/Cadigan Creative March 24, 2014 at 1:24 pm #

    What a beautiful reflection, Monique. Hugs and love. xoxox

  2. Anonymous March 24, 2014 at 4:13 pm #

    I’m touched by the beautiful photo and prose. This blog made my day. Oh, Spring!

  3. Uncle Jack March 24, 2014 at 7:06 pm #

    I am Mr. Anonymous. If you will, send me an email with a way to reach you outside your blog. Uncle Jack

    • Monique March 24, 2014 at 7:16 pm #

      Hey Mr Anonymous Uncle Jack! Just wrote to you at the address. If you don’t get it, reach me here at crumpetsincamelot[at]

  4. Valkrye Brumby March 26, 2014 at 5:04 pm #

    Hello Monique, I have been subscribed to your blog for a few months now and always read your posts with interest.This particular post really resonated with me . I too lost my mother a little over a year ago now and was so struck (and thought I was the only person to perceive it in this way) by your thoughts and reflections on your responses to the loss of your mother. I have thought and feel precisely as you do ,although my tears still come quite easily and unbidden ~ it happens less often, but never can predict what will trigger them. I still feel the loss so keenly and am really interested in how individuals deal with such enormous events~ one can never quite fully believe that a human being so full of so many wonderful qualities and life can simply be gone . It seems impossible and yet… Many people seem to think when it is a parent and they are older, that you should just accept the natural order of things and get on with it. I think the loss of a parent, particularly if you very close to them, is one of the most profound (and potentially life changing) events in one’s life. So full of transitions that you might never anticipate .It is in some small way a comfort to know I am not alone in feeling as I do. It felt good to make such an important connection. Love the keyhole view as well~ it is very like something I would notice and photograph! All the best. Thank you for sharing something so personal. It makes me feel less alone in this.

    • Monique April 11, 2014 at 9:41 am #

      Thank you so much for writing and sharing. I sometimes think any words of comfort I might have are worn out and useless. I am touched to hear that my own experience resonates with yours — that neither of us are alone. Some people have recommended books or various activities to help ‘deal’ with grief but it seems to just take its own time, and I don’t think there is any rush. It’s weird to read a comment that feels like I could have written it myself, written by someone who feels like I’ve written something she could have written. Weird but cool. Thank you.

      • Valkrye April 11, 2014 at 9:26 pm #

        Hello again Monique, Had not realized you had replied to my comment until today, when I saw your latest post on cross training.I can identify quite well with what you say about words of so called comfort~ they hardly exist in my experience . One acknowledges the intent behind them,but they rarely offer any real relief do they? (Apart from taking some small refuge in that we might not suffer alone) .Anyway, I felt compelled to comment, not only upon learning of your own grief , which I was very sorry to hear of,but that I could relate so well in the way in which you experienced and expressed it. Yes. it made me smile in recognition about it feeling” weird , yet cool” to read words which sound very like what you would write yourself~ that is pretty much what I experienced reading yours! All the best to you. Thank you for replying.

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