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.