Author: ferylfiles

I like the visual of a log jam in a river to describe how grief can feel sometimes. I’ve talked about feeling frozen about certain tasks and chores. And then the movement of one or two stubborn trees, a log changing angle, a tiny shift can equate to major change and things begin to flow again. The inside of my home is starting to take on some changes. These changes have been tangible, visible, physical, beautiful. They’re also internal.

There’s an internal battle of what is the right way to do this–live without Bryan, live with grief, live with a love and heartbreak so big sometimes I can’t breathe right. I want to honor him, us, Mary. I want to be loyal to his memory and to the life we deliberately built. Slowly, I’m giving myself permission to explore what that means without aggressively “shoulding” on myself. I’m giving myself permission to laugh, joke, smile, create, share, and love alone. It’s not linear and I do it better some days than others.

This weekend, I had friends over for a potluck and held a “happy” party. The garden was resplendent. The food my sister and all the guests cooked was delicious. The conversation was warm and lively. I have friends and family who continue to show up in all the ways that matter.

I’ve said a few times this week “I may be sad, but I’m not dead.” So I continue to live. I continue to hope. I continue to love. And I give myself permission to be happy again.

Over the course of the past week, I’ve been doing a lot of rearranging in this house. So much so, that I’ve managed to walk a couple miles per day going from room to room. Yes, a person can get their steps just doing chores and moving furniture. (What a workout!)

These literal and figurative steps have been really good. Don’t get me wrong, I cry a lot. A lot. The smell of his clothes. The touch of his favorite ski suit. The love notes I snuck into his ski bag so he would think of me on long trips. What to keep? What to donate? What to think about later? These are part of those steps.

The garden was my first step for me. And it has sustained me all these months. Fall is here and “winter is coming.” It is natural to begin to turn inward, into the house, into thoughts of steps to come. The notion of steps is really comforting. I don’t have to have it all figured out. Mary and I don’t have to do EVERYTHING all at once. We can take our time in a way that is appropriate and meaningful for us. Steps. Sometimes they’re baby steps. (“Baby steps, Bob.”) And sometimes they’re full-length strides.

I’m so grateful that we don’t have to walk alone. My heart is so full of the love, support, and caring we’ve gotten. I could not have done this alone. I could not have done it without Mary. I could not have done it without my family of blood and choice, my friends, my community.

Sadaversaries are around every corner, particularly now that we’re at the end of September. And a friend of mine has reminded me that I can either get bogged down in the sorrow or I can acknowledge that these are just another day in September. I think it’s both and I’m trying very hard to process the scope and scale of this past year, but to also embrace that change keeps coming. And change will keep coming and I will keep taking a step (baby steps?) forward.

These last couple of days I’ve begun organizing, sorting, purging, cleaning in ways that I was inacapable of just a few weeks prior. Bryan and I had always envisioned organizing our books that were scattered in bookshelves randomly in every room. We never did that project together. I did it by myself. I wish he could see it. It looks really good. I’ve rearranged the living room, I’m beginning to empy out the front bedroom to prepare it for some extensive work. Yes, that means finally a door. (Laugh with me.) I’ll be moving my bedroom to the back room that has been a catch-all for a long time. I organized my art and jewelry-making supplies in the middle room, which will probably be the next catch-all room until I’m ready to tackle it.

Change is good. Continuity and change is very good. This is still home. This place has Bryan’s soul and spirit throughout. How could it not? But it looks different so that I can move forward. The mixture of feelings is about 70% pride and satisfaction, 20% sorrow, and 10% guilt. Damn guilt. I try to whack-a-mole it, but it still rears its ugly head. Hey, at least that’s a solid C- and a passing grade so I’ll take it.

There’s a lot more to do, but I have confidence with each step I take that I’ll be able to take the next one, too. In the process, I will do my best to “be here now” and take the day as it is because as I get older, all the days will be sadaversaries if I’m not careful.

Today is the autumnal equinox. Fall is such a great season–carved pumpkins, bright colors, endless pots of soup and homemade bread, cinnamon and apples, costumes, band concerts, and cozy sweaters. The changing color of the leaves is probably my favorite. As a painter, it feels like nature puts on the best art show and we get to walk in the gallery for free.

And autumn breaks my heart.

My mama died on October 15th in 2007. My big brother died last year on October 11th. Bryan was diagnosed at the end of September/beginning of October last year. This time of year is both amazing and fraught. I watched our Northern Red oak tree change into the most extravagant colors last year. It caught my breath while I was confronting the reality that my husband had terminal cancer. It has begun to turn colors again. This time I will watch without Bryan.

Bryan often talked about liminal spaces–where ocean meets sand, where mountains rise up out of flatlands, when time shifts from one season to another, when we shift and change. It may seem a little pagan, but we shared a fondness for the equinoxes and solstices–four times a year of guanteed liminal space. We got married on the vernal equinox for this reason.

The rain the last few days has kept me inside and I’ve used the time to move some furniture and reimagine the space in this house–changes to create something new, new modes of thinking, new ways of living. Changing seasons force us into newness even as we reflect on anniversaries and the bone-aching memories. I am both grief-stricken and hopeful. And this song makes me think of all of that loss while celebrating beauty and change.

I haven’t made journaling a regular practice and I regret it. I guess that’s part of why I am making a more deliberate effort to write this blog now. I was looking through some old things and found this journal entry that I thought was worthy of sharing. This is from a trip to France Bryan and I took to meet my bonus parents, Francie and Gordon, who had flown in from Reno, and our dear friend, Sarah from Australia. The date is June 4, 2018. I hope you enjoy as much as I did rediscovering it:

Yesterday, Francie woke up sick. 😦 Sarah opted to go to the Louvre toute seule. Gordon did some venturing on his own. Bryan and I went to the Marché aux Pince, but I don’t think we hit the right section with vintage and antique items; instead we found dollar store central w/inexpensive clothes, housewares, accessories, a Les Halles grocery type environment and tons of Syrian refugees. It was incredibly overwhelming. [I want to make a note here–it’s one thing to read articles about people leaving an untenable situation at home and to see it face-to-face in the eyes of people striving to find a new way of living in a new space. Bryan and I discussed at length his travels and what seeing folks in Paris escaping a place he had found so beautiful and welcoming meant to him. He shared his grief unhesitatingly. Lots of feelings here that a couple sentences don’t adequately express.] Bryan gave all the coin he had to an older woman and her granddaughter. We walked around the area quite a bit, popped into a church mid-mass. It was a gritty industrial area N of the highway that circles the city. We got a metro to the Stalingrad station and found the Paname Brewery. Beer was so-so, but the space was very Portland, 30-somethings w/families, canal, picnic area.

When we headed home we got groceries and rested/visited for a bit enjoyed beer and conversation. Francie had found a Moroccan restaurant and made reservations. She and Gordon treated us to a wonderful dinner. So much delicious lamb! We ate until we were stuffed. Roasted lemon (already preserved) mixed w/potatoes and olives…WOW! Gordon had lamb chops, Bryan had a medley of delicious things of which he offered tastes. Francie & I had the same tagine and Sarah got a salad which was essentially salsa, but she enjoyed nibbles from around the table. On our way home we stopped at the Trocadero to see twinkling lights on the Eiffel Tower, along with loads of other tourists. B

PS The selfie stick is a shit invention. That is all.