Picking up the pieces, finding the thread ...

A thought is stuck in my head, she was knitting as she lost the thread of her life. Beautiful black thread shot through with gold and silver, the beginnings of a stylish exotic winter scarf. Shot through too with broken glass where the police had smashed the window to get in and find her ...
We could not pick up the stitches on the knitting, only unravel the yarn and plan to start again, perhaps hoping that taking up the thread ourselves, pulling thread through air in complex knots and beautiful patterns might somehow help us "get over" the sense of loss.
In your wardrobe some of your beautiful, colourful clothes still hang, waiting for you to step out once more in the shot silk pink and gold. Your piano is closed, the music tidied away yet we still want the song to go on.
We who remain feel less colourful, life is painted for the moment not in black and white but in grey, we can find neither melody nor harmony not even in a minor key.
We will sweep up the broken pieces of glass, clear the food from the kitchen and try to pick up the thread of life again as we plod forwards in dry-eyed grief, feeling leaden as we try to pull the often recalcitrant thread of life into the complex, ordinary and beautiful patterns we call living.