Part love story, part grief memoir, Dear Blacksmith recounts the author’s brief and unconventional love affair with 'Blacksmith Paul', a maverick who lived out on the moors in the Peak District – and the heart-rending details of her grief after his sudden death, just eight months into their relationship.
Adapted from the much-loved blog Swimming Through Clouds, the story is told through a series of searingly-honest diary entries, reflections, and poems addressed to the Blacksmith. In a heartfelt rejection of 'stiff upper lip' culture, 'Writer Beverley' sheds all inhibitions to examine grief at its most raw and brutal; from planning her love’s funeral with a family that she’d never met, to learning to live alone again following the loss both of her soulmate and her mother, a few weeks earlier.
A complex journey from the depths of sorrow to the beginnings of recovery, this book is a work of extraordinary sincerity; and ultimately, a hard-earned testament to the power of love and the resilience of the human spirit.
This is a searingly honest account of the author’s grief, shock and disbelief after the sudden death of Blacksmith Paul, the love of her life discovered in her forties after a series of distressing relationship breakdowns, a seriously ill child and the death of her mother only months before. After only eight months of being together, the sheer disbelief she described at having this newly blossoming love snatched away, going over and over the events leading up to his death, made absolute sense, as did the distinction she made, having also lost her mother, between losing someone you love and someone you are in love with. A powerful challenge to assumptions that this was not serious grief due to briefness of their relationship and the imposter syndrome she sometimes felt from people’s reactions. The memoir came out of a blog she wrote tracking the raw manifestations of her grief as it played out, and as such it evokes the immediate and sometimes chaotic quality of this experience. As such it was sometimes repetitive and at nearly 400 pages, I found it a bit long. Sometimes a touch whimsical for my personal taste (Paul in the clouds, or hanging out with Prince and Bowie, which was also suggested to me when I lost my brother, a nice idea but not one I can believe in). But for all that it was a thought provoking read that happened to coincide with the death of my mother and gave me the permission I needed to think through my contradictory emotions and come to a resolution of sorts. I have no hesitation in thoroughly recommending this book to anyone touched by grief of any sort.
Beverley Ward writes openly about the pain of losing her partner suddenly. It is a story of love and pain, an open hearted and deeply personal account of her grief. It is a beautiful book.