Author: ferylfiles

Eight years ago I married the best person I ever knew in a restaurant in Portland, Oregon. It was a small, quiet, surprise. We scheduled it for the tail end of Mary’s spring break her senior year at Reed. What an incredible day.

Today, I still celebrate every good thing about that day and every day since, but damn. My heart hurts.

I have lunch planned with my favorite redhead and I will absolutely paint my heart out this afternoon. If you’re so inclined, listen to Crosby Stills & Nash’s “Southern Cross” and think of us.

A day late with this one, but sometimes the ideas take a little longer to come together.

Those who know me at all know I love to bake. Cookies are probably my favorite, but bread, bagels, cakes, and pies rank right up there too. Yesterday, many celebrated Pi(e) Day (3.14). Sadly, I did not, but the thing about knowing how to bake is any day can be pie day if I wish it to be so. Bryan was a very good baker–his specialty was savory quiche for breakfast, (Yep, a breakfast fella who liked busty brunettes–the liberal Ron Swanson of Walla Walla). Mary’s mom, Sara, is a fine baker too and her peach pie is probably the best I’ve ever tasted. Mary has helped all of us in the kitchen developing her own skills so that she can whip up a batch of eclairs or rainbow cake or cookies like old hat.

I’ve recently listened to the original Broadway cast recording of Waitress, a musical that has a strong baking theme and it’s made me think of our family’s take on baking and pie. Some folks walk through this world thinking everything is a zero-sum game: if you win some, I automatically win less. Bryan, Mary, and I would talk about this a lot saying “it’s NOT pie!” whether it is success or joy or love, more for you doesn’t mean less for me. More just means more. And we can ALWAYS bake more pie.

Love isn’t pie. Love is a whole bakery.

A month. How is that even real? A friend and her husband who are retired/semi-retired came by for a visit. We talked about the nature of time and they made reference to their nickname for how the days kind of meld together–“Blursday” was their affectionate term. I find that to be incredibly apt. Time is still an accordion. Time with my bestie and sister went so fast. The evenings all by myself go on forever. Is it too early to go to bed? Can I wait until at least 9pm? Then off to bed and sleep escapes me. That time drags on and on. At least I have folks in Australia, Hawaii, or the Eastern time zone who I can message.

The 20th of this month is our eighth wedding anniversary. My birthday follows on shortly afterward in April. These benchmarks of being without are the rites of passage for all who have lost someone. These are just mine and I’m dreading them.

I was asked to do a reading at my friend Lori’s wedding to her husband Josh many years ago. I searched for something fitting for quite a while and loved best Kahlil Gibran’s poetic words in The Prophet about friendship. It was fitting for her and Josh. It’s fitting for Bryan and me. And it’s fitting for Lori and me, too:

And a youth said, Speak to us of Friendship.
    And he answered, saying:
    Your friend is your needs answered.
    He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
    And he is your board and your fireside.
    For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

    When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the “nay” in your own mind, nor do you withhold the “ay.”
    And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
    For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
    When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
    For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
    And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
    For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

    And let your best be for your friend.
    If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
    For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
    Seek him always with hours to live.
    For it is his to fill your need but not your emptiness.
    And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
    For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

This past week has been medicine and my heart has been refreshed. In so many ways since Bryan passed I have felt like an untethered boat in a big storm with no oars, no sails. The friends and family who have been surrounding me, comforting me, reminding me of myself have been tugboats pulling me through this storm. I am incredibly fortunate to have people who sit in silence with me and my grief and sometimes they turn that silence into laughter or music.

There have been moments that I’ve really detested about this week and I’m glad I didn’t have to face them alone. I had to go to the funeral home to collect a sheet and sign a final “goods and services” form. Lord have mercy. Then I had to take the sharps from all the insulin I was giving Bryan (steroids cause high blood sugar) to the county health department so they can dispose of them appropriately. Yesterday, I made my way to the walk-in clinic for a minor health concern (please don’t worry) and in filling out the paperwork had to mark marital status as “widowed.” Not sure why that was entirely necessary, but damn, something so benign took my breath like I’d been punched.

So to balance these moments of sorrow, we’ve enjoyed delicious meals at a variety of places in town, went for a drive up into the Blues, hiked around Bennington, did some wine-tasting, played all kinds of music, I danced while Lori made inciteful commentary about my sign-language-adjacent style (laugh with me), we played Bananagrams (PEEL!), and watched comedy. I’m so fortunate to have her here and sad that she’s leaving already. We always say at the end of our visits that they go by too quickly. And they do. They really do.

-B

Nighttime is the worst. The cats or nature insist I get up more than once or twice each night. And each time I wake up, the dawning realization of this new way of being smacks me in the face. He’s not here. I sobbed and sobbed last night. These thunder showers come quickly, are intense, and leave me so tired. Grief is exhausting. This heartache is mixed with the most confusing swirl of emotions–a demand for life and living. I want to taste food and dance and sing and connect with friends and loved ones and see the beauty of nature and create and basically shake the ever living tar out of this life because he did. I think maybe it’s a very human reaction to witnessing death.

This morning, Lori and I took turns listening to music from our youth. I danced and laughed. House of Pain, Joshua Kadison, Sir Mix-A-Lot, Pebbles, Sophie B. Hawkins, Mr. Big, Boyz2Men, Lauryn Hill, and so many others. I remembered things long forgotten. What a gift. I’ve also been encouraged to listen to music I’ve never heard before and it’s breathtaking and haunting. I’ve played Sara Bareilles “You Matter To Me” a couple of times at least.

Bryan, Mary, and I used to spend evenings taking turns playing songs we loved, sharing with each other, finding overlap in our tastes. The past few days has been a revisiting of that for me, for which I’m so grateful. It’s easy to find moments of joy every single day. It’s also easy to be shattered that I can’t share those with him.