Tuesday, May 31, 2022

May 31


 May 31

Once the warmer weather came, my life became  hectic.  Chores continued to build daily, now there were fields to mow, lawns to mow, weed eating to do, maintenance on the house, blueberries and the orchard to care for, plants and flowers to care for, vegetables to plant, plus of course caring for the chickens and dogs.  This weekend I took a couple of days and did nothing, 

May has been such a bittersweet month.  May 5th would have been our 48th anniversary, we had our very first date for his high school graduation of May 26, 1968, to say I have been sad, well I admit I have been very sad.

Friends keep wanting me to visit them in places like Florida and upstate New York and even out West.  I spent years traveling on jobs by myself and it was no problem, but now...Rick and I had incredible times traveling together.  We had experiences that many only dream about, making friends everywhere we went, seeing so much beauty, truly living a dream.  

I have hit a wall.  Each time my friends ask me to visit and I know they do so out of love, I freeze.  Traveling without Rick does not compute in my brain or maybe my heart is in the way.  The connection that we had on our travels has faded with his death.  I do want to see friends, but seeing them without him breaks my heart, all those happy memories taunt.  It is like each time someone sees me out and expresses their sorrow of Rick's passing ( it will be two years July 16) the wounds that cover my heart reopen and the pain hits all over again with a dastardly vengeance. 

Life will slow down on the farm this fall, after I get things winter ready.  I am trying to visualize myself traveling alone then, seeing friends, allowing memories to comfort me.

I still haven't performed.   I sing to the dogs and the chickens, in the car, in the shower, in the field. I performed for many years before Rick and I married,  but music like traveling became such an integral part of our marriage that when he died it's as though he just whacked that part of me off and took it with him.

I think of him and wonder how his life would have been without me.  Would he have picked up the pieces and moved on, thinking of me with fondness and maybe meeting someone else? Or would he have become frozen/suspended in a half century  of being entwined with me and trying to figure out how to live alone.

But life does go on, there is beauty in this place that makes me laugh out loud, moments when friends and family surround me with so much love that that I can breathe deeply and memories  caress my spirit and heart.  The gardenias are blooming, the hydrangeas and the bee garden, hummingbirds dart about and life seems to have exploded here.  Spring proves that life goes on.

My nephew James lost his leg a few months ago.  He and I talked about his phantom pain, how he can still feel his foot and toes, yet he knows they are not there.  I told him I understand completely how a part of you can be missed so greatly and the logic in your brain knows it is no longer there, but you know it will always be a part of you and will always grieve the loss.

I hope you all are well, that every day you whisper a few words of gratitude.  Savor every moment, hug those you love and always see the beauty in the ordinary.


Monday, April 25, 2022

April and Life Goes On

 April brought Easter and for the first time since Rick died I went to a family gathering at my sister's and then at his sister's.  Both were difficult, I still feel suspended and not quite sure of where I belong or even who I am.  His younger sister and her husband lost their only child in a car accident just before Easter.  The funeral was held at that same place where Rick's memorial service was held.  I sat in the back and took deep breaths.  Our nephew James, my brother's oldest son lost a leg to sepsis, loss comes in so many ways.

My mother told me once  after my dad  died her life became one of loss.  Sure there were good moments, but the older she became, the more people she knew died, who became sick,  she just saw more and more loss.  Sometimes I fear that is what life becomes for all of us as we age...just acceptance of loss.

This weekend I went out to my shed to get my hoe to work in my garden.  My hoes were gone, so were several other old tools that had all belonged to my grandparents, then passed on to my parents and then to Rick and I.  There were shiny new tools, that the thief didn't touch.  More loss... Tools that had been used for almost a hundred years, that had seen sweat, tears and felt calloused hands.  Tools that been lovingly caressed, handles rubbled warm and smooth with appreciation. Taken from their home by someone whose only reason for existence apparently  is to find money for their next high.

And while there is ugliness there is great beauty in my life as well.  All around the farm, spring has delivered  her beauty in abundance.  The apple trees have filled the air with soft delicate sweetness.  Wild flowers have bloomed in the fields and woods with abandonment as though Van Gogh had tossed seeds into the wind and the spring rains and sun painted the earth with their beauty.  The blackberries are blooming now, and I can hear Rick's voice, "you are going to make a blackberry cobbler, right?"    The blueberry bushes are full of green berries and I walk barefoot through clover daily.

I have started a large painting.  It's inspired by a photo that a friend of Rick's sent me of a field of Texas wildflowers.  We will see how it goes.  I have written many pages, worked on some new songs and  cried many tears.  I know Rick's death changed me forever and I muddle through as best I can.  Using creative energy helps, so do friends and family who listen.  Regardless of whether it's a good or difficult day, Rick's voice stays in my head, "life goes on."  Yes, it does Rick.  The photo is of blackberry blossoms in the backyard.


Thursday, March 24, 2022

7th Decade

 Yesterday was my birthday.  I entered my 7th decade, it was my second birthday without Rick.

To be honest I don't remember much at all about my last birthday.  I made it through, that was my goal and I was successful.  

Turning 70 is surreal, not the aging part but it was such a milestone birthday that the two of us always talked about.  Rick would have been 70 last year, I know we would have celebrated in some form or fashion but it would have been different because of covid.

Yesterday I thought about him most of the day.  Life has changed in so many ways, yet much has remained the same.  The dogs and I walk daily, the chickens are still my girls and spring is arriving on the farm.  The redbuds are blooming, the dogwoods are budding, every day brings a different shade of green.

I have worked the beds, cleaned all the planters and containers, pruned fruit trees, cleared the fence line and ordered seed.

Friends called, texted, sent cards yesterday, family members dropped by.   I felt much love and gratitude, yet the feeling of emptiness stayed with me.  I just miss him.  The pain is not unbearable any more, just nagging, always that little twinge that has become a part of me like my blue eyes.

My mom traveled constantly after my father died.  It was her way of dealing with the twinge.  I am fortunate to have friends who live all over the globe and in their infinite kindness they issue invitations to visit.  Before Rick died, all I wanted to do was travel, now it is such a difficult thing to think about. 

This farm has become my security blanket, the last threads of a life that was not perfect, but content.

Building courage to continue new things daily is exhausting,  finding direction and purpose is painful, like being born again.  This freedom, thrust upon me by the death of a lifelong partner is nothing that I asked for but it is the hand I have been given.  The responsibility of it is heavy and the choices are not easy.  Life continues to go on.  Sharing my birthday selfie.




Monday, February 14, 2022

Happy Valentines 2022


 February 14, 2022


Love is messy, complicated and difficult

Love is glorious, beautiful and life sustaining

A heart wrapped in love will celebrate the beauty of the roses and endure the pain of the thorns.

May you have an abundance of roses and an absence of thorns.

Happy Valentines

jilda



Saturday, January 1, 2022

A Gift

 New Years Day, 2022

It's interesting how the celebration of New Year's has changed through the decades for me.  Once upon a time, it was all about dressing up, going to a party and lots of champagne. As the years went by, it became spending time with good friends, enjoying good food and making memories. Then it was just Rick and I, a great meal at home, and a good bottle of wine and sometimes we didn't stay up to welcome the new year.

Rick loved New Years, it and Thanksgiving were his two favorite holidays.  He made elaborate mind maps of his resolutions, he would make recordings of his resolutions.  For him, a new year was like getting a new life.  I never got into resolutions but I always did vision boards.  A couple of months after he died, I picked up my vision board for 2020 and threw it in the trash.  Everything on that board, every vision I had included him.  I no longer make vision boards.

Last year as 2021 came calling, I had expectations.  You probably had them as well.  A vaccine would be distributed, Covid would be contained, and  the divisive craters created by politics would begin to grow smaller.  

This year, I have no expectations of 2022.  As a matter of fact, I smudged my house last night, opened the doors and hoped that any kind of negativity that existed would disappear into the darkness.

 I am living one day at a time with hopes that I can spend time with my friends and family, play music once again and travel before I am too old.  I am practicing kindness as much as I possibly can.  This farm is a full time job but the hard work outdoors has been good for me.  I am grateful for family, friends, my dogs and chickens.  My life is very different, but it's good.  Painting and music give me joy, so do books and conversations with friends. 

This morning when I walked the dogs I spied a flash of golden yellow on the trail.  I looked down and there was a heart shaped leaf.  I think it was a gift for the new year.  For this year, may we all be kind, to each other, our selves, to the world around us.


Saturday, December 25, 2021

Christmas 2021

 December 25, 2021

My second Christmas without Rick.  I foolishly thought this one would be easier, I was wrong.

With Jordan's help, I put up a Christmas tree.  With Rick's voice in my head, I painted cards, and I didn't get enough painted, so New Year's cards will be sent to those I missed.

But, it hasn't all been sad, friends have sent surprises, called  and sent wonderful wishes and love.  Family has done the same.  Jordan and I did our traditional outdoor Charlie Brown tree and we baked cookies. I had breakfast with my brother's family yesterday.  Both sisters invited me to their family gatherings today. But I chose to stay on the farm this Christmas day.  I need the outdoors, the space and the healing of of this place.

Last night was a good healing ugly cry.  My friend Christine is right, a good cry always makes you feel better.  Today the sun came up and as I glimpsed a few messages on FB, they were all full of love and kindness.  The song from years ago is right, " why can't every day be like Christmas."  If we could just capture that feeling and push replay any time we felt animosity toward each other.

It's warm in Alabama this week,  and that makes me envious of those who have snow and cold. The dogs are still sleeping, the wind is blowing and I smell the coffee brewing.  I wish all of you the Happiest and most Loving of Christmases today.  I hope your Christmas wishes come true.   


Friday, November 19, 2021

November

 November has always been my favorite month, Thanksgiving my favorite holiday.  I have been laboring hard the past few weeks, getting this farm ready for a winter's rest.  I watched the lunar eclipse ( well parts of it )  and thought about Rick, hoping that he was somewhere seeing the magnificent spectacle of a cold autumn night and mother nature's magic.

This will be my second holiday season without him.  I think the reality of it is that it's actually the first that I am fully aware.  Last year's season was just a passing of time, between family members with Covid and the crater of darkness that his passing created, the sunrises and sunsets happened without fanfare. I did decorate a tree and paint a few cards but that empty space consumed me.

It's not that you get use to the emptiness it just becomes a part of who you are.  Learning to live a life alone after spending 46 years with someone is a jigsaw puzzle of emotions and decisions.  Each of  us will or has handled loss differently.  When my parents and brother died, I threw myself into work but when Rick died I faced the ugliness of grief head on.  Covid and the isolation that it brought to the world caused so many of us to grieve alone.

I can tell you this, we who survived that grief and loss are not to be taken lightly.  My tolerance for greed, hate and ugliness has disappeared.  I know how quickly life can change, how precious moments are and those who have walked this path seem to be in agreement with me.

So Thanksgiving will continue to be different.  I will cook a bit this year.  I will as always ( even in the darkest of days) think of things to place on my gratitude list.  For me, friends hold a special place on that list, without those who stood by me  my life would be so cold and empty.  My animals, this farm gave me healing energy when I thought there was none and family, who even in their grief stood by me.

My hopes for the coming winter's rest is that creativity will blossom for me and that my body will continue to remain healthy and strong.  For others who are in the throes of grief, hold on.  Life changes, you will change, that's all I know.