Author: ferylfiles

This is something Mary has said a lot. And I’ve echoed the sentiment. I’ve lived an entire lifetime in two days and I have had 14 and a half years go by in a blink. I don’t understand it, this strange accordion effect. Here it is a year and a day after Bryan’s passing and that time has also been a lifetime unto itself and very short simultaneously.

Bryan often used to say, “when you lose, don’t lose the lesson.” I’m afraid I don’t have some great sweeping lesson, some incredible insight, a roadmap to grief and suffering. I don’t. I know this—grief is personal. My way isn’t the right way or the only way; it’s my way. I can say that doing something every day that helped my future self has been good counsel. Growing a garden, being in nature, not isolating myself from friends and family who love me have all helped me. And sometimes just letting the tears come and hunkering down with my kitties has been just the right thing.

I’m on a trip with people I love very much. We’re all experiencing this trip differently. We take different photos. We go on different excursions. We pick different things off the menu. We compare notes. Grief and life are like that. 

I am still very sad, missing Bryan every single day. And I am still very much alive, determined to not fold in on myself or give up. This life is short so I’m going to continue to hunt joy nuggets, love, sing, dance, grow flowers, and create. Hmmm maybe I learned something after all. He was so right. 

Hey friends, I know you’re missing Bryan, too. I know this one year marker that’s coming up doesn’t just affect me or Mary. Bryan lived big. He loved big. His friends, his colleagues, his family of blood and choice meant the world to him. You feel his absence too and we are connected in this shared grieving, loss, and love.

I’m taking measures to absent myself from the most painful, acute reminders for a bit by going on a trip, hopefully doing so with sunshine, adventure, and great memories with dear ones to help accompany older ones.

If there are ways you would like to remember Bryan, to commemorate him meaningfully, I encourage that. We have lost him in the corporeal sense, but we have not lost the way his love and enthusiasm have changed us. Ask questions. Push boundaries. Let your passions be big and unreserved.

And when I get back, I look forward to reconnecting, reminiscing, laughing, crying, hugging. 

Love always,

Becci

I think I mentioned that I got a new job at the beginning of this month. Full time. Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm. The real deal. I’m in an evaluation period right now, but everything points to this being a great fit. I’m currently the Front Office Coordinator or the FOC for Express Professionals here in town. There’s so much to learn and some of it is starting to sink in–the rhythms of the week, the humor of my coworkers, the beauty and idiosyncrasies of human behavior.

The first couple of weeks were really challenging just because I had had such an amorphous schedule for so many months before going back to work. Prior to Bryan getting sick, I worked only parttime so that I could focus on my art and jewelry. Before that I worked very different hours at Shop Eleven. A couple of things that I’ve noticed with the new schedule–I have gotten a lot better at Gantt-charting my days and week; I can get a lot of errands done over the course of a lunch break, and the time, weirdly, goes incredibly quickly.

Things I’m learning and re-learning are the importance of hospitality and grace. I’m also discovering that for every person who complains of hurdles, there’s another one working their damnedest to obliterate them. I find helping match people with their interests and skills to gainful employment very compelling; my colleagues work incredibly hard to make that happen.

Finding the right balance of work, art, jewelry, writing, walking at Mill Creek, spending time with friends is really challenging. I don’t have it all figured out. For this first month, time has largely been split between work and painting. Jewelry has taken a back seat, so has the blog and my other creative writing endeavors. My brain tries to tell me I’m bad, a failure, or incompetent. I have to remind myself this is winter. Self-loathing in winter has to be taken with a heaping wheelbarrow full of salt. I also have to remember that lots of things are seasonal and some things on the back burner will come to the front eventually

Is it decadent self-pity?

Or is it winter?

Is it remembering the acute pain from this time last year?

Or is it winter?

Is it the weight of solitude and loneliness?

Or is it winter?

Is it existential dread?

Or is it winter?

Is it the soul-aching reality of his absence?

Or is it winter?

Is it nascent depression?

Or is it winter?

Is it reaizing it’s nearly been a year?

Or is it winter?

Bitter cold, a new schedule, and winter mean this gal has been introverting during her off hours. Saturday at 6am it was -4 degrees. I stayed in my pajamas painting and napping off and on all day. There were no long walks for me. The rest of the weekend had a few social components which were delightful and draining. That makes it sound like I didn’t enjoy them. I did. It just comes at a cost for me.

Bryan was the extrovert of the family–chatty, engaging, eager to make the party last longer. While I love people and entertaining, that’s not where I get my energy. My new job is great, but it has a very public-facing component which leaves me tired by 5:15 during the week and pretty exhausted by the weekend. I’m sure as I adapt, the tiredness will recede a little or I’ll have learned new techniques and tools to navigate.

Of all the seasons, winter feels most like being forced to eat Brussels sprouts as a kid. Yes, it’s good for me–to be reflective and restful, to look and fold inward. But does it feel miserable most of the time, too? Yes. Is it also a perfect excuse to stay indoors by myself? That too.

If I don’t write or post or text or call quite as often, it’s not because I don’t care or because I’m avoiding out of any sort of malice. I just don’t have a lot to say or the energy to say it. Just as winter doesn’t last forever, neither will the season of folding inward. But both are here for now.

And when I run out of words, I have paint.