Author: ferylfiles

Many things can be true at the same time–another complextity to an already complex existence. The last few days I’ve had incredible visits with friends. I had coffee and a cookie at the Patisserie Friday afternoon with a friend where we talked about grief and loss, pets, housework, and social awkwardness. Saturday I painted during the day and in the evening a dear friend who had invited me out took me to dinner and to a holiday concert fundraiser. It was so much fun. I got to try new flavors and listen to music by local and Seattle talent; the vocal stylings of Jennifer Northam and Gail Pettis particularly stood out as well as a Whitman alto sax player who will be famous one day. 🙂 Yesterday, I had dinner with another friend where we each had a beer that Bryan probably would have liked a whole lot, the Krampus Strong, at the Brew Pub. Threaded throughout these last days are texts and exchanges, jokes and affectionate messages with friends far and wide. Messages from my siblings keep me afloat like a life jacket. All these things are emotional power packs, support, kindness, love. I’m so thankful.

And at the same time…

My heart hurts so much. The sobs come out of no where. Every cell in my body is aching and screaming for my person. How is possible to hurt this much and still function? This weekend, I had a nap and I saw Bryan pushing a wheelbarrow of dirt on the sidewalk for any number of my home projects. That smile. Those hands. The tilt of his head. He’s everywhere and nowhere. Today, I saw a guy with a beard on a bicycle wearing a blue windbreaker. I almost couldn’t breathe for thirty seconds.

I am not alone in one respect–I have the connection and support of family and friends far and wide. These connections are life-saving to me. And I have never been more alone, too. When you have a mind/body/soul connection and half of it gets ripped away, you can’t help but feel amputated. And I’m not a gecko.

You may notice on social media that I’m painting up a bit of a storm. That’s because it’s been gray and gross and I’m so incredibly sad. I take all of that and pour into my art. Beauty and sadness. Loneliness and longing and connection. Many things true at the same time.

[https://feryldesigns.etsy.com/listing/1617884148]

There’s a kitty in the neighborhood that doesn’t seem to have a home. I may have mentioned her before. She’s dark with a little bit of gold in her fur. Half of her tail is missing. She’s skittish of people, but she thinks that Seamus, our handsome Maine coon, is just fine. Over the summer and fall she’s found places to sleep around the house–under the trees in the backyard, nestled in the wood chips by the house, tucked in here or there in the garden. She’s welcome (I think all the kitties seem to know that about me.) I’ve been feeding her and I think my next-door neighbors love her and feed her, too.

When the days were really cold there for a bit, she’d look at me from several feet away on the porch as I opened the door to let Seamus in. The warmth, I could tell, caught her interest. Seamus coming inside piqued her curiosity. But she stays resolutely outside, running from me if I approach.

I empathize with this kitty. Something hurt her. She’s scared. Solitude seems to suit her, most of the time. Half socialized and half feral–I get you kitty. And yet, she sleeps on my porch often. The bowl of kibble is empty by morning.

Time, patience, and love work wonders. Maybe they’ll work for her. Maybe they’ll work for me.

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

Under the best of circumstances, this time of year can be challenging. It’s fraught with emotional pitfalls. Obligations pile up. It’s messy out here with all this should. And everyone of us misses someone whether it’s through long distance or loss. Yet, we still look for ways to brighten shorter, darker days.

I miss Bryan all the time. I feel it extra at Christmastime. He made it so much fun–hunting for a Christmas tree, listening to the Vince Guaraldi soundtrack of A Charlie Brown Christmas while we decorated, Handel’s Messiah, sugar cookies, spanikopita, stuffed mushrooms, events and outings with friends, and particularly Christmas Eve and breakfast the next morning with our girl. The simplicity and warmth of these Lubbers traditions have defined the season for me for a long time. I don’t want to lug the Christmas boxes out of the attic to decorate. I don’t want to get a tree. What do these things mean without him?

But I did get in the holiday mood. And I decorated, a little, with some Shop Eleven spirit–paper, hot glue, and twinkle lights.

I didn’t want to accept the invitation of a dear friend to go downtown and watch the Parade of Lights because it was something Bryan and I did. But I went, and I even dressed up. (That’s a mistletoe fascinator and a Christmas-y infinity scarf Mary made for Shop Eleven years ago.)

Finding light in a dark time is essential to survival. And if we can’t be or bring light, we can do our best not to extinguish it.

There’s other darkness, too. Here are a few ways I’ve found for fighting that.

Internationally: https://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/ and https://wck.org/

Locally: https://www.valleygivingguide.org/

Most of all I hope you don’t feel like you have to do this time of year a certain way or feel that you’re doing it wrong. We’re all making it up. All of us. None of it is scripted.

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

Last one, babies! Last one on the list. We can do this. Let’s go.

One of the best parts about having a garden is watching it change–the changes within a season and the changes from season to season. Before Bryan and I were married I suggested, “hey, let’s rototill one side of the backyard and make it a full vegetable garden.” The look on his face was abject horror. WHAT?! No? Hmmm. Regroup. Goal–backyard garden. Method–slow, incremental change. “Hey Bryan, could we plant one jalapeno pepper plant and this dill plant we got from the grocery store?” Yes.

Excellent. Baby steps.

Growth that is well-paced, managable and semi-controlled is really nice. Life works that way only sometimes, though. Other times it’s chaos and tragedy and curveballs. Growth happens that way too–with me kicking, screaming, and sobbing the whole damn time.

I was maybe eight or nine. The pain in my legs was beyond anything I’d ever experienced before. My big brother was running to get hot, wet towels to put on them. I was sobbing. Why did it have to hurt so much? I’ll never forget those growing pains. I’ll never forget these. I’m thankful I got taller. Finding gratitude now is a lot more difficult and maybe more essential.

Growth I’m thankful for–I can do hard things; I can trust my intuition; I can find joy on the dark side of the moon and still talk about it.

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

I love my family very much and I’m very thankful for them. Bryan used to lament that he couldn’t ask his mom and dad questions any more or tell them about some new idea or thought that occurred to him. I get that very much. I reach for my phone to text Todd all the time. I want to tell my mom how proud I am of the teenager girl she was. How her choices, really painful choices, meant a better life for her kids and I see that played out every day. I want to tell her that choosing to live instead of folding into nothingness when her heart broke over and over again is my model. I want to tell my Daddy that even to the end he was my teacher. That it’s never too late to say I’m sorry and never too late to forgive. I wish I could show Bryan what I’ve been doing to piece a life together, tell him how amazing our girl is (even though he already knew.)

I also love and appreciate that I get to see pieces of those who have gone before us in those still left. I get to see a little of Mom, Dad, and Todd in my sister, Emilie, and my brother, Craig. And I get to see Bryan in Mary. That is pretty incredible and such a gift.

I also appreciate my family of choice, my wonderful, dear, treasured friends. And for the families who have adopted me, thank you for loving and including me.

Family is complicated. It can be beautiful, painful, easy-like-Sunday-morning, and tough as heck. Regardless, I am lucky to have the family I do and I know it.

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