Straying into the Swamp

I keep slipping into these troughs of sadness. Everything is going along fine when suddenly I find myself turning inward, my face closes as the painful look of “what the heck just happened?” crimps my features. I couldn’t figure out why it kept happening, there didn’t seem to be any one event flipping that switch that sends me spiraling down the drain.

Have you seen the “Never Ending Story?” It was a movie I loved as a kid although there was one scene that tore at my tender, seven-year-old heart the first time I saw it, and honestly, every time since. If you haven’t seen the film or read the book, here is your *SPOILER ALERT*. It is the scene where Atrayu’s friend, his gallant horse, Artax, drowns in the Swamp of Sadness. I can still hear Atrayu pleading with Artax to not let the sadness of the swamp get to him, knowing that if he does, he will sink and the swamp will swallow him whole. Atrayu pleads with his friend and pulls his reins until there is nothing left to do but watch the tip of Artax’s soft muzzle slip beneath the black sludge.

It took some time, but I finally put the pieces together. I’ve been working on the cover for my upcoming memoir (sequel to Follow Me, Friend). I keep running up against the same problem: I don’t have the image I want of Farletta for this cover. It doesn’t exist. And what is worse, it never will. Each time I run up against a wall on this project, I’m reminded that Farletta is gone and there will never be another photo of her or of us together.

It finally dawned on me exactly what this situation reminded me of–that scene from “The Never Ending Story.” Not Artax sinking into the Swamp of Sadness but the horrible feeling of shock, loss and emptiness that Atrayu must have felt as he left the swamp without his beloved friend. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This is the picture I love and I wish would work for the cover but it is cut off and too close up to work. It is one of the last pictures of Farletta, taken a couple weeks before she passed.

All the hopelessness and helplessness I imagine Atrayu felt, flattens me each time I dive into this cover design project. It may seem insignificant, after all, it’s just a book cover, won’t any image do? The answer is a resounding, painful, no. The story I’ve told in this second book is a beautiful tapestry of love and friendship between me, and the horse that helped me find, love, and embrace the person she had always been able to see within me, one I could not see in myself. I wanted the cover image to convey that feeling of love and connection–one that would perhaps help the prospective reader feel a hint of what I felt when I was with Farletta, and the symbiotic energy that flowed between us.

Each time I reach out to an artist, or talk to a cover designer it is like stepping into that Swamp of Sadness. How far can I go before I start to sink, sucked ever deeper as the unrelenting grip of sadness closes around my heart and mind? Like a daily reminder of what I’ve lost, bogged down in the mire of regret that I let us run out of time.

There was always another day, a better day–maybe after I lost some weight, or it wasn’t so hot or I didn’t feel pressed for time. We should have had so much time left. How could it be that I am here now without Farletta, wishing for pictures that will never be taken, wishing for one more hug, one more nuzzle, one more moment together. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Other photos like this one which I love are too low resolution to work for a book cover. But I’m glad I have this picture. It is from 2010.

I know in the grand scheme, the lack of the perfect image is insignificant–I do have a lot of pictures of Farletta, and a few with me in them. But it’s the knowing that hurts. That and the constant reminder as I repeatedly trudge back into that damn swamp that I’ve lost something I can never have again, and that the regret of lost opportunity I’ve always feared so much is now upon me.

I’m afraid I don’t have a neat little feel-good bow to wrap up this post with. Sometimes there is no answer, no way to feel better except to let the grief run its course, and be gentle with myself as I traverse the swamp.

I miss you, my sweet Farletta, so very much. Next time, I’ll take the damn picture anyway.