Author: ferylfiles

Meal prep and planning, bed times and morning alarms take on new meaning, new importance as I find myself back in an 8-to-5, full-time job. I make art and jewelry in the evenings, on the weekend. I try to get walks and photography in on my lunch hour, extra-long walks on the weekend. I’m still me with a little more structure, organization, and income.

Coming home to an empty house those first few nights was pretty grim, though. I can’t chat with Bryan about my day, with all his questions and exuberant curiosity. There’s a quiet that’s a little unsettling. I turn to music or old, familiar movies to fill the space with voices other than my own. I’m still trying to get use to what it means to be in this house without my person. I’m not rattling around eating stale wedding cake in an old lace gown, I promise. But I’d be lying if I said this place wasn’t filled with shadows and memories that come out all the time.

My job is interesting, a bit overwhelming, but very good. I like being around people again. I think I might have been getting perilously close to old-widow-cat-lady weird. Greeting people and chatting with co-workers helps sand off the awkward edges (I hope!) Grief is still ever-present–sometimes a dull-ache in the background, sometimes a sharp stab, and sometimes a heavy, black blanket–threaded into these newest rhythms of being.

[If you get anything extra out of my writing, you’re welcome to leave a tip in my virtual tip jar: https://venmo.com/u/Rebecca-Lubbers-1 or if you want to see some of the paintings I’ve done recently you can check them out here: https://feryldesigns.etsy.com]

I’ve written about baby steps, referring to the movie What About Bob? This is the incremental approach to change and growth. Lots of little things add up to big things over time. And yet, sometimes there are big steps, big changes–by choice or by chance. This week, I started a full-time job. After the trial phase of a few months, I’ll go into more detail. For now, I really like the folks in the office and I’m a little overwhelmed but also excited about the nature of the work, helping people. That’s the professional side of the equation. The emotional impact is a little different.

You know, I understand why people get frozen after major, traumatic events and loss. The pain is everpresent. That’s no surprise and it becomes familiar. There are new aches and pains to be discovered, though. As life continues, growth, movement forward feels like a betrayal to the person gone. It’s not logical. It’s not grounded in reason. Of course the living person continues to live. But that act of living, of taking next steps, that’s another step further away from the life that once was. Growth and change means, would they love me now? Would they love me in this iteration? By freezing in time, by avoiding living and growth, there’s this illusion of staving off future pain. But that’s just it. The pain comes regardless.

Moving forward is an act of faith that there is something worthwhile on the other side of (through? with?) this pain. Maybe it’s courage to keep taking steps small and large. Maybe it’s fear of what happens if I don’t. I do know, two nights ago I cried really hard about the increasing gap between life before and life now. The next morning I got up and took a big step anyway. And I’m really glad I did. And it still hurts.

[Virtual tip jar: https://venmo.com/u/Rebecca-Lubbers-1]

And no, it’s not sourdough.

I’m a little melancholy tonight. That’s okay. I’m not going to force a positive attitude when I don’t have one. Tomorrow will probably be a better day and I’ll be positive then. That’s usually the way of things.

I do want to raise a proverbial glass, however, and toast the folks who have helped me survive this year–I’d endeavor to list you all out, but then I’d forget someone’s name and then feel like a real heel so I won’t. I feel heel-ish enough without piling on. Cheers to long walks at Mill Creek, river otters, and the changing season. To flowers and veggies and backyard birthday parties. Hurray for kitty cuddles, trashy romance novels, and bagels.

And here’s a toast to grief because every agonizing, painful breath is a reminder of exactly how much I love Bryan.

I have no illusions about 2024. Every year so far has been a mix of heart-wrenching and beautiful. I see no reason why this will be different in that respect. Hopefully the memories made will be interesting, funny, and quirky enough so I can tell good stories when I’m an old woman.

Love to you all. And if your new year isn’t happy, let it at least be funny.

I’m pretty sure most of the folks who read this blog live in Walla Walla, Washington or have spent time here or at least visited. For those of you who haven’t, let me tell you, winters are gross. We live in this beautiful valley and most of the year it’s sunny and pretty. We’re right at the foothills of the Blue Mountains, which are really plateaux and we can talk about the Great Missoula Floods and the Palouse and why the topsoil looks like it does or why the Columbia looks like it does or any number of things like why do wheat and grapes grow so well here. It’s a remarkable place. When I look at photos of Tuscany or the south of France or some places in Spain, we’re not far off the mark. It’s why Italian immigrant families found it so familiar and easy to settle here. It’s a special place, I’m telling ya. And while I don’t come from an early settler family or have ties to the Cayuse, Walla Walla, or Umatilla tribes, my mom was born here, my sister was born here, both of my parents went to college here, and there’s a bridge on the outskirts of town that has my maternal grandmother’s maiden name (from a step-father who adopted her–Wickersham). I spent winter and summer breaks here often as a kid even when I lived in Ohio. I remember eating homemade ice cream from cream purchased at the College Dairy on College Ave and eating that on shortcakes with Klickers strawberries. This place is magical. It has layers of complicated, sometimes heartbreaking, and yet extraodinary history. I’m fortunate to be here. I would not choose any where else to be home (except maybe Tours, France).

But winters. Oh man. This valley gets socked in with inversions. The low cloud layer is dense and heavy and sometimes without any end in sight. It can take a toll on one’s soul. Bryan would get out of it by going to Bluewood (our local ski hill) and have “the most powder days” he ever enjoyed anywhere and he skied a lot of anywheres. He would come down from the mountain exhilerated by these powder and “blue bird” days. I’m not a skier and so I didn’t go up. I stayed down in the gloom and would let my mood fester. Yesterday, I had kind of a crabby attitude so I forced myself on a walk at Mill Creek anyway and here’s what it looked like:

Even in this gloom, I could laugh about calling for Heathcliff and enjoy the otters playing.

Today, the weather forecast was for more of the same, but the sun came out and there were patches of blue sky. The cloud cover was significantly higher. Il faut profiter. When things are just right, one must take advantage, so my sister, brother-in-law, and I went for a walk at Bennington Lake where most of Walla Walla and their dogs also decided to carpe diem.

After a lovely hike and a serious workout of the gluteous muscles, we came home and then I got busy painting with bright, cheerful colors. As much as I like to write and share my feelings (laugh with me), I do like to be quiet and express them other ways. These suckers are coming out one way or the other. Let’s just be glad it’s not my riding a horse naked in town or screaming profanities at brick walls–you’re welcome. 😉

December 28th seems like a perfectly reasonable day to have a couch day. Not that reason or permission need to be a part of it, but here I am justifying it. Christmas was good and also really hard. The holiday season is good and also really hard. And the hard has caught up with me.

There’s so much to do–cleaning up boxes and tissue paper, putting away gifts. The kitchen is not completely dirty, but it’s not clean either. Laundry. Sweeping. There’s still mail and paperwork to be filed and sorted. And I look at it all with a big fat NOPE. Nope, not today. Today, I will not. Maybe tomorrow.

On this particular couch day, I’m going to rest and reflect. Walking in town these past gray days, I understand how people can believe in ghosts. I saw someone walking in the distance with a yellow jacket. BAM! Right in the gut. I catch somone’s profile just out of the corner of my eye. BAM! Right in the gut again. I’m sad. I’m frustrated. And sometimes I’m even mad. How dare he leave me! It is possible to be grateful, joyful, and completely heartbroken and mad all at the same time. It’s a lot to process and so once in a while–COUCH DAY.

I hope if you’re in need of a break, you can catch a couch day soon. We can pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, start all over again, but tomorrow. Today, we couch.

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