Cycle of Loss and Renweal

My stepfather in law passed away almost six months ago.  He stopped living many many moons before.  I've written of him previously, his drinking and abuse, the hate that spewed from his mouth and the life not so much lived as belligerently existed.  He was exhausting to be around, and a part of me is not sad that he is gone from us.  The part of me that cares deeply for his stepson, his wife and caretaker, his grandchildren; that part of me has great compassion for those that truly miss him and struggle with his loss.    


Last night on the patio of my mother in laws brand spanking new condo, she said to me, "I tried not to miss him... but I do anyway."  How could you not miss someone with whom you lived with, loved and were married to for 20 years?    She says she doesn't miss the house - it was a ton of work, in great disrepair and sucked her into the vortex of being not good enough, not, not, not.  But she misses the neighbors and the neighborhood.  I get that.  It makes perfect sense to miss the people who cared enough about your safety to check in on you and make sure your husband didn't take out one of his violent drunken rages upon you.   


She says she doesn't get it when everyone tells her it's normal to not feel like you've got your bearings or solid footing, "after all you've been through."  She truly does not understand that a year of taking care of a bedridden husband in hospice care is exhausting, both mentally and physically and the fact that he manipulated, berated and tortured her throughout made it exponentially worse.  She has spent 20 years in servitude to his disease.  


I get that.  Her son gets it.  It's time for her now.  The new glasses, trips to the doctor and dentist, new furniture and new clothing.  They are things she should have done decades ago and never did.   My wish for her future is people who lift her up, praise her abilities and lavish love upon her.  

Done

I asked... something in me needed to.  He hesitated briefly, "I uh, finished up and moved on."  Ouch.  It is what it is I suppose. 

Life goes on.

One of things I love most about my neighborhood is the open space and the farming.  Drive a minute and see the cotton grow during the fall.  Little tiny puff balls of almost white proudly perched atop what looks like brambles.  Drive a minute during the summer and see the bright green corn stalks taller than I am.  Drive south a minute and come to the dark green field studded with orange pumpkins.  And in between?  When the frost stops the fences go up and the lambs come.  It springs up overnight.  I never see it coming but then one day, there they are.  Mama sheep and the lambs, soon to be mamas lumbering around and the grass once higher than proper, all nibbled neatly down to nothing.  And behind my ever so humble abode?  The rancher whom I've never met, but always admires allows his goats to roam freely for the first time all year.  And I love to walk the dog and greet them... watch them jump back and forth over the small irrigation canal like it's the best game ever; most with their swollen bellies and babies in waiting, and hear their low "neeeh" while they approach the fence to nuzzle my hand and see if I might have anything special for them.  And I just might.

Sunflowers

Five days a week I walk E to the bus stop bright and early. It's all of a decent blocks walk, we are still struggling to shrug off the sleep, but it's time. Time together, usually just the two of us, where I get to hold her hand if she lets me, brush the hair back out of her face, talk about school and what not. Each day for the last three weeks I've been pointing out a certain clump of plant life in a neighbor's yard. It's where the sunflowers bloom each spring. A tiny patch around a brightly painted mailbox no more than 18" square that seemingly at random spring forth with a glorious riot of color around my birthday each year. And then before you've ever really had your fill of them, poof, they are gone. It reminds me of fig season. I salivate in anticipation all year long, hunt them down - for they don't grow in my desert - thoroughly enjoy each and every bite and when I go back to the store for more, find out I've been stood up till next year.

Monday, I pause at the bright green plants with their study leaves and tightly closed buds and I say to E, "won't be long now.. the sunflowers are coming." She nods and smiles at me, not quite getting it but she gets that I'm excited about it and it's enough for her.

There they were this morning. 2 dozen or so tightly closed buds just lifting up their little heads toward the sun. but then I saw it... almost totally open, bright yellow petals shining like a new morning and that chocolate center looking oh so fine. I pointed. E looked, eyes wide like she almost didn't believe it. A shared giggle, a duck of her head and a wide shy smile came across that face. I've made my point. Good things come to those who wait, those who understand there is graceful and delicate rhythm to patience, anticipation and satisfaction, those who understand there is nothing gratifying about an instant.

For my 41st year I've made a promise to myself to slow down a little, to remind myself of all the truly wonderful and special moments we all take for granted. Each day a new thing or something I've failed to notice or something that brings me peace and joy. I'm going to document it. I have a couple weeks before the beginning of that year, but why not start now?

Rock, Paper, Scissors

A few days ago E and A got into a squabble about something so silly only a mother could love them both through it and still remain sane. I sat on the porch with their grandmother, enjoying the sun and her company. I had no absolutely intention of returning to the living room to settle lego wars part 1. I suggested the time honored tradition of rock, paper, scissors. E slammed the front door in a huff and went to do whatever it is warring children do when their mothers refuse to intervene. Moments later she was back at the screen door, "moooooooom... A says she has scissors that can cut a rock!" Surely the world must revolve around the wisdom of a 4 year old with a vivid imagination and a genuine lack of affinity for the truth. "No she doesn't..." I explained yet again, "Rock smashes scissors. Paper covers rock. Scissors cut paper. Now go." Quiet reigned for a mere 2 minutes until E emerged and slammed the screen door behind her. In her hands were a sheet of white paper and my good yellow handled kitchen scissors. She had a look of determination about her and she made a beeline for the nearest rock of any heft. "Oh child... what are you up to?" Sheepishly she considered me from beneath dark and fringy lashes. "I wanna test the physics of rock, paper, scissors and prove to A that she's wrong." Nothing like sibling rivalry between two budding geniuses.