Oh boy, i need to blog. I feel i should blog. I want to blog. Because my blogs act as marking points for me. Days, weeks, pass, and my mind goes this way, and then that, every so often i'll find myself on a path that feels like it might lead somewhere, i know these are the beginnings of something and they give me hope, but they don't run for long, and my sense of being lost in fog is still mostly overwhelming.
Thing is, grieving Jon is complicated, just as loving him when he was alive was complicated. The image that keeps coming up in my mind is of two hands - my hands - in one i hold a white stone, this white stone is the easy stuff, the Jon who was easy to love, the me who was easy to love, and in the other hand i hold a black stone, the black stone is the dross, the Jon who was not easy to love, the me who was not easy to love, the nastiness. The black stone is all the fucked up, nightmare, bastard bits of our relationship, and the white stone which i surely want to keep is the wonder and joy and happiness. 
The inclination is to chuck away all but the good but if i did that i'd be living with a half truth, alternatively, and this is not going to happen, i could chuck away the good and think only of the bad, make him out to be a total louse, but that too would be untrue. 
There are parts which i am looking forward to discarding. His family were odd when we were together and were the greatest source of conflict between us. Their manners made me feel like trash, made me feel like i was just another pair of knickers Jon had got into. This is what we fought over, i needed to be allowed self-respect.  Maybe it is vanity to think i wasn't trash, but i do not think i would have such an abiding and strong sense of loving and being loved in return if that narrative was the whole truth.
So I am angry at his family because i feel hurt and put down by them. And i'm frustrated. I don't want to be angry. I want to let go. But I know that locking down feelings and/or trying to pretend they don't exist doesn't make them go away, if anything they get harder and heavier and more deeply entrenched so I'm trying to practice buddha-mind so when they pop up i observe them like clouds in the sky knowing they will pass presently. I have to say I am not doing that well with my buddha-mind but i think my iil-will and sadness and sufferance will pass presently because it's not weight i want to carry and it's not worth carrying.
But the bits of Jon, and me, that were mean and uncomfortable are part of our story. Who wants to remember that shit ? Remembering may be the wrong word but until i find the right one i'll stick with it. I would say i do not want to remember the bad stuff, but, if i don't the story will have gaps that turn it into nonsense. If it was so peachy sweet how come you broke up, how come this, that or the other happened etc. It's why grieving Jon is complicated, i am sifting through the ten years we knew each other, and there is delight and there is despair, and dull, and disappointing and dreary, deception, damage,  excuse me i couldn't resist all those d-words. What i'm trying to do is make some kind of sense of it all. Not so much mind sense as heart sense.  To me, my mind sense is logic and reason, those are great and useful but they offer only superficial understanding, they are the maths, whereas my heart sense is deeper, instinctive, not clouded by rules or societal pressure, my heart offers me an understanding that is intuitive, that understanding feels more whole. The bridge between my heart and mind is poetry. 
So that is where the two hands and the stones come in, i am  measuring and weighing the past ten years, the good and the bad, my two hands are like the pans on a set of scales. My being depends upon me getting this right.  I am deciding what parts of our shared life i need to carry in to my future and what parts i need to let go. It's about finding equilibrium.