Gypsy Rose Lie

The Crystal Ball

The Crystal Ball (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Perhaps I should have known better than to seek guidance from a palm reader, but when your husband crashes out of your life without warning on a Saturday just before Take Me Out, you find yourself willing to believe any old crackpot in a caravan with a crystal ball.

Especially when you’re three sheets to the wind at a music festival and she’s promising to give you hope in exchange for ten quid.

So there I was this weekend, sitting in a caravan with an alleged descendant of Gypsy Rose Lee, palms facing skyward (wedding rings back in place – just to test her!), anxiously awaiting delivery of a message from Mark. Surely if He was going to communicate, it would be at a music festival, through the medium of this craggy-faced crone?

She held my hands and scrutinised them. “Your gentleman loves you very much…”

“Yes? Yes?”

“You are very happy together…”

“…Yes…”

“You’re going to experience a rocky patch over Christmas, but you’ll soon be back on track…”

I would have scarpered right then, but her butch bouncer guarded the exit like a rabid pit-bull. Instead I found myself, two minutes and a tonne more bullshit later, crossing her palm with my well-earned tenner. The tears in my eyes were a mixture of dejection and frustration at myself for having been taken in.

Problem is, I would pay it all over again for someone to alleviate the deafening silence of this void. Grief seems to wring every last ounce of logic out of you, leaving you vulnerable to any old charlatan who claims they can bring you closer to your dearly departed.

So look into your crystal ball and lie to me. Tell me anything. Just don’t let me believe this is the end.

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6 thoughts on “Gypsy Rose Lie

  1. what a bucket of fuckedness. I am so sorry and completely understand, “the deafening silence of this void”, and vulnerability, and desperation. I find myself while in the midst of the most wrenching grief, calling out, sobbing, asking over and over, “where are you?” and cannot fathom why, WHY when death parts us, whomever is gone knows where we are, can see us, and hear us, but we are left with nothing. I just want to be able to picture where he is. I’ve lost every ounce of what I envisioned and cannot resurrect it, nor just make something up. it makes me despondent when I hear others recount seeing their beloved in their dreams, hearing their voice. and I cannot give up and believe that this is the end. I talk to him all the time, tell him I know he is with me – because if it was me who died, I believe I would never want to leave him. but it is so fucking hard when we are so strung out on grief to have NOTHING. I hold onto the one-sided conversation because it is all I have – the desire to believe he is still here. I am exhausted so am taking to my bed and saying to myself, “per chance, to dream?”.

    much love as always, xoxo

    karen

    • I didn’t dream about Mark for a long time Karen, then finally he started to appear every now and again. I find myself sobbing a lot in dreams, whereas I don’t cry that much when I’m awake. My counsellor seems to think this may be another way of dealing with the grief. It is definitely the ‘nothingness’ which is hardest to take. It seems impossible to think that material remnants of their lives are still intact, but they are gone. Another of the impossibilities of this shit. Love right back to you. X

  2. I like to think that G is around (I picture him in the pub, standing at the bar with the newspaper watching the racing) looking down and probably shaking his head at some of the things I’ve done and the mad purchases I’ve made. I would so love to get a ‘sign’. I’ve heard people mention white feathers or butterflies. I don’t see them and I’m not sure G would be so predictable! He had a thing that men shouldn’t wear brown shoes (don’t ask) and that’s all I see everywhere at the minute. I do wish that I could dream about him or hear his voice. I envy those people who do, or who have videos/ tapes and can hear their loved ones. I so understand your need for something, but I think we’re destined to be disappointed. Karen love the ‘bucket of fuckedness’ – sums it up perfectly. Hugs to you both xx

    • I am fortunate in that I have a wedding DVD in which I know he appears in full, moving technicolour. When I think, I wasn’t even going to have one but a friend was launching a business in wedding films and asked if he could do it for free. Thank god I’ve got it. (Haven’t been able to look at it yet though, but at least I know it’s there.) I think you’re right, we are destined to be disappointed. I don’t believe in the feathers / butterflies thing either really, but would never tell someone not to believe – we are all grasping at straws, and to be honest, I’m for whatever gets you through the night… XXXX

  3. I too always like to think Ian is around watching over me telling me that I wont find happiness at the bottom of my glass, but by god it helps at the moment. Also I probably would have stumbled into gypsy rose lea whilst under the influence, altho I would probably be thinkin at the time do I want to spend my whole £10 in one go or should I go to asda and get 3 bottles for £10 and have 3 nights of oblivion. I don’t want to be on my own anymore. I’m tired of dinking alone and I’m not bothered about keeping the remote anymore….. You can have it …. and sky sports news …have it all …. I miss you xxx

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