This morning, as I stood in my kitchen listening to Chris Stapleton serenade me while I drank my coffee, I looked over at our breakfast table. Bryan’s chair has a basket of clean towels I need to fold resting on it. The lyrics “Time keeps tickin’ on by so slow They say it’ll heal you, but I hope it don’t though” punched me in the gut. And then the tears started. The warmth and cadence of Bryan’s voice, talking about everything, his endless curiosity seeking out what I thought, the way his eyes would light up at me like I was the most beautiful woman on earth–they are so astonishing in their absence, his absence. My kitchen, filled with music and memories, is empty without him here.
The rhythm of regular days, working, walking, dancing, singing, tending cats, gardening, cooking, cleaning (not as much as I should), paying bills, discovering new expenses, whack-a-moling the problems and surprises that arise all fill space; they don’t fill his space. And they don’t erase the ache that is now a permanent feature to my heart. My God, I miss him so much.
I love looking up and trying out new recipes I find on the internet. I’m always checking for which ones have the highest ratings, the most number of reviews, and most definitely a “JUMP TO RECIPE” button as I’m not terribly interested in full life stories right before dinner. I appreciate that I can read a couple reviews and know which spice to double or what isn’t necessary. Bryan and I used to chuckle about the review/comment sections and how it seemed very much like church ladies kibbitzing at a potluck. My big brother is very organized with his recipes and the best ones get added to an app. My sister likes to look over about five different recipes for the same thing and then glean out the best ideas to come up with her own. For me, once I find a winner, and it has to be WORTHY, I handwrite it in the special cookbook my bonus mom gave me YEARS ago. This will be magnum opus. Maybe…
That’s the great thing about recipes, we come to them with our own tastes, experiences and preferences. I’m never shy about sharing a recipe with people because I know it will be different than what I make. It’s just the nature of individuals. That’s how I feel about sharing my experiences with grief. This is how I’ve been doing it. Maybe it’s helpful to some. Maybe it’s a hard pass for others. That’s okay. These are my recipes.
This weekend marked another important, painful milestone. I put Bryan’s skis away. A piece of me feels lilke I keep losing him again and again. Other pieces know it’s important to keep moving forward and that looking at those skis hurt, too. He’s still here in my heart and mind. I haven’t lost that and this Friday we get to share time and memories together; we’ve got that.
As far as recipes goes, I firmly believe in adding double the vanilla, or (fresh) garlic, or laughter, or joy nuggets and most definitely love. As Bryan would say, “your mileage may vary.”
I enjoy scrolling through Instagram for funnies to share with my people. I want to bring humor and levity–life is heavy and hard, bringing laughter and lightness makes me feel good. Sometimes while I’m there, though, I get little nuggets of wisdom and this one from author Ali Smith really struck me: “When you have love in the equation, you also have death in the equation. The love story is always about the threat and promise of loss.”
“The promise of loss” stood out the most. Every relationship has loss for one reason or another. It’s broken off. The people grow and change and the relationship that was is no longer (maybe it’s a new one). Or somebody dies. For every single relationship, the loss is built in. So then why do we do it? Why do we love? Why do we build relationships with people? Because it’s worth it.
I watched my husband’s life slip through my fingers like sand and I have never known a pain more excruciating. I couldn’t fix it and I couldn’t heal him. Once he was gone I had to piece some version of a life without him which was antithetical to every choice I had made for the fourteen years prior. And I would choose him all over again knowing what was coming because we were worth it. The life we built was filled with joy, laughter, amazing meals shared with friends, travel, play, delight, curiosity, hard work, anger, frustration, tears, passion, and a few cats.
Knowing that loss is built in, I ask myself if I would be open to loving like that again. My answer is yes. It may be a high price, but it’s worth it. Life with love is so much richer than a life without it.
2018 was a very full, busy, momentous year. Bryan, Mary, and I went to Hawaii in the winter. Bryan and I met up with friends in Paris in late Spring and then visited my French host family just outside of Tours. I also made the heavy decision to close my little boutique gift shop, Shop Eleven. And in the fall, my dad, with whom I’d been estranged for a few years reached out to ask me to come see him in Bend, Oregon, which I did without hesitation.
My Daddy loved his babies, me included, but I think our transitions to adulthood and independence were hard on him in every case and it manifested in not always the most pleasant outcomes (I like frosted over euphemisms, too, Mom). A big source of the heartache was my relationship with Bryan. I had chosen a much older man. And in early days, Bryan had a conflicting schedule and couldn’t meet with my Dad when he’d come out from Ohio to visit. Bryan thought there would be ample opportunity and Dad felt it was a snub. Lack of communication and hurt feelings all around grew and grew. And Dad often leaned on anger, the secondary emotion, when hurt was the primary one. With a lot of encouragement from others, Dad ended up calling me to help resolve what had been way too long of a time apart. It was a good visit. It was a healing visit. I’m so thankful to every person who helped make that possible. You know who you are…
At the end of that weekend, driving back to Walla Walla from Bend in our old Camry, I decided to make a pit stop at the Bi-Mart in Redmond. What should I see when I stopped? All kinds of bulbs for sale–daffodils and tulips primarily caught my attention. I felt the strongest compulsion to buy tons and so I did. Bringing home a full heart and a full car.
Bryan, delighted by the visit and gracious in my fall planting exuberance helped me plant all those bulbs. The squirrels have gotten most of the daffodils, but the tulips have been a source of joy and healing ever since.
The following spring, April 4, 2019, my daddy passed away. And the tulips were in full bloom. Every anniversary of that date afterward, I think of that fall 2018 visit and what it has meant to my heart and my healing and that the tulips come just when I need them most.
Some days I get up early enough, make breakfast, make the bed, get to work with time to spare, take care of all the tasks in front of me. Laundry is caught up. The kitchen is pretty clean. The house is mostly tidy.
And then as the day concludes, here, alone, I see all that’s not done. All that I’m reponsible for. I feel overmatched. How do I do this? How am I supposed to do this? That feeling of overwhelm and smallness–it clobbers me.
I went out to clear the stream of debris. I think I might have plucked a dead squirrel or rat or some misfortunate, drowned rodent out along with all the water plants that flow downstream to the grate that separates my side from the neighbors. I began to remove weeds and dead plants from the back garden, barely scratching the surface. Why is it so much harder this year? Why does it seem like a mountain?
I know I can do hard things, but I don’t wanna. (you can imagine that in as whiny a voice as you can tolerate) Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll put on my big girl pants and tackle one thing at a time.
Feryl Files 