19 tcf.org.uk COMPASSION | CREATIVE WRITING FROM EXETER SUPPORT DAY MARCH 2025 The colours of the rainbow In the mourning sunlight Dance & reflect on the faces of my accompanying travellers. They blend and separate like the emotions of my soul Sometimes clear & bright other times dull & murky Like the tears that fall when sadness comes to call. Who knew our tomorrows would be ‘coloured’ thus so Who knew our hearts would fracture and break Like cracks on the icy snow. Time is a great healer Some they like to say But we could not foresee this Somehow onward we will go! It is only now with hindsight we see how far we’ve come In the comfort of knowing You; my precious child, travel with me all the while. God has you in His keeping ‘til we reunite once more and then within God’s glory We will share more than just a smile. The view from my window is a riot of colour. A stunning sunrise in streaks of orange, yellow and blue spread across the morning sky. My life used to be full of colour. My daughter Bex was a bright imaginative child who grew into a caring loving adult with a gift for bringing joy into other peoples’ lives. Now that she has left my world I search for colour in everything I do. She loved to wear colourful clothes, and I have kept her rainbow hat in a prominent place to prompt me to continue looking for colour in my life. My aim is to live in such a way that Bex would be proud of me. It is challenging but immensely rewarding when I feel I have achieved a little success. I write to her in my journal whenever I long to share my life with her. This brings solace to my new life – a life of loss I never anticipated. Grief moves in waves, often dark waves, but everywhere in our beautiful world there is colour to be found. On a warm spring day, we skipped hand in hand down the farm lane close to our home. Birds were singing in the hedgerows and the familiar rich farm smells filled our nostrils. We stepped onto a bridge over the stream and listened to the gurgling glistening water as it tumbled over stones and eddied in bubbly swirls on its impatient journey. We gathered sticks from the bank and stood on the bridge anticipating the next step. Together we called out “Ready, Steady, Go,” and we threw our sticks into the fast-flowing torrent. We rushed to the other side of the bridge to watch our sticks emerge. “Mine’s first!” Bex shouted and clapped her hands in delight. “Let’s do it again Mumsie,” and we did, many times throughout her childhood. Sometimes we took friends and family to the little bridge to share our fun. One day soon I will take my four-year-old granddaughter Willow to that magical place to recapture our memories of Pooh Sticks. Oh, what joy that will bring! Memories by Sally McDonnell The Journey by Corrine McMylor Mother of Kerry Dear Diary by Sally McDonnell
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