Birthdays and Anniversaries

It’s May again. It happens every year. Lately, I have been more focused on writing my book, on my consulting job, on helping clients and on my herb garden. I spend time trying to decide when to make my Moss Milkshake and spread it on the bare spots in my yard. I imagine soft waves of different shades of green instead of brown mud with weeds struggling to find some sun.

It’s May again, that time of year when everything is sprouting, popping out of the ground, turning from grey and brown to green, red, pink, yellow…It’s May and it is, once again, catching me by surprise. My life is filled with bright spots, soft spots, and underneath it there it is, the mud and muck of grief.

I have witnessed clients anticipate anniversaries and birthdays months before they happen, dissolving into fear and worry. I used to do this too and over the years, have stopped feeling anxious months ahead. I have a plan for May 6 and thought that would be enough this year. But this morning I posted some information on a grief support website and when someone made a slightly negative comment, I felt stabbed. And I realized, well, here it is. It’s May and underneath it all, I feel a bit raw. Maybe more than a bit.

In the midst of the rough pain of grief we beg the universe for it to be over. Slowly we discover that we have longer stretches of calm, longer periods where we are more involved in the lives we have built for ourselves after they died. AND…you see, it is never either or. It is never done with, not really. I have a great life, a growing career, two book contracts, wonderful opportunities and a lot of love. I rejoice in how the “children” are creating their own lives and how our family continues to expand and dive into new adventures. I am grateful for travel, for support and for everything that has come my way since he died.

AND, it’s May again.

I miss him.

Beauty and Flowers

There is nothing like death to make you appreciate life.  While depression and sadness lurk around the edges, the center holds so much beauty. Right now in midsummer, my garden is blooming with lovely flowers, some of them taller than me. Feathery cleome nod in the breeze and Echinacea and bright yellow daisies peek out from under a tree. I planted a few cana lily bulbs in the spring without any sense of what they might grow into and now, there are this amazing bright red flowers, bobbing on tall stalks with red striped leaves. I am filled with amazement that I put them in the ground and they turned into these gorgeous surprises.

Alby was the gardener; it was part of his character that he could grow things. He had a magic touch with the earth; when I first met him, he planted almost an acre of vegetables down the hill from our house. He would set a pot of water to boil, run down and harvest his corn – from garden to table within 15 minutes. He grew flowers and got very angry when he discovered he was actually growing deer candy. He planted herbs for me to use in our meals. He tended the garden of our lives and after he died, I just could not take on the plants in his absence.

I have nearly always killed houseplants, although I have had more luck with the outdoor kind, but he was tending them. Friends have given me cuttings of jade, spider plants, lovely trailing things that flourished in their own homes. “You have to water them,” they would chide. I watered them, gave them pretty pots to live in but still they withered and died in a matter of days. I decided that I am just not a gardener at all.  But this year, I changed my mind.  I decided to channel some of Alby’s ability.  I planted an herb garden in one of the few sunny spots around the house and now, in addition to my flowers, I have an abundance of three kinds of basil, rosemary, tarragon, oregano AND marjoram, and a thriving sage plant.  There is an old wives’ tale that where a sage thrives, a strong woman lives. So here I am, world! I am growing plants and they are beautiful, strong and some of them are even tasty. Pesto, anyone?