....Comes Around Again

Grief is like a staircase.

Not a normal staircase that you climb one rung at a time, easily charting your progress, step by step.

Grief is more like a spiral staircase that winds around on its self. You are making progress---step by laborious step---it's just that the view rarely changes. Just when you think you've finally, finally made some progress---gotten "better," or "stronger,"---the staircase winds back around on its self and you find yourself staring at the familiar landscape of loss again; a landscape you are pretty sure you have already traversed.

And you HAVE traversed it---its just that you're going to traverse it again. And again.

And probably again. Dear God in heaven, probably yet again.

It's a small comfort on those days to tell yourself that the elevation changes DO count, that the view--our outlook--IS different, if only incrementally. On those days it's much easier to just curl up in a ball, or rail at the unfairness of Life.

But everything changes. Even grief. Or maybe grief doesn't change--maybe grief changes us, I can't really say. Glib answers aren't really helpful and I'm still feeling my way along, learning, and re-learning as I go; what is helpful, and what isn’t.

So what DOES help? Drink water, eat enough, sleep enough, hug people, talk about your feelings. Yada yada yada. So basic, and yet so true. So I keep climbing. One foot in front of the other.

I’m still climbing.

Resolve This

It’s that time of year when most people have already broken most if not all of their New Year’s Resolutions.

I have not.

Made any, that is. Which I find puts me squarely in in the 100% Unbroken Resolution Camp.

I don’t like to make my resolutions so early in the New Year. I find that New Year’s resolutions made on or before January First seem to have an overly optimistic quality to them that borders on rash, if not downright reckless. I like to take my time, think things over.

It is often said that only fools rush in where angels fear to tread. I like to just poke my head in the door of a New Year, take a look around first----- before I do anything rash like

commit to “Be a Better Person” or “Work Tirelessly for World Peace” or “Stop Kitten Homelessness”.

Not that those aren’t worthy goals mind you, just that the labor involved is bound to be more than I can handle---and I already have two formerly homeless, formerly kittens so it’s not like I don’t try at all.

Resolutions that are made after the first of January seem to have more staying power. Maybe because they’re more carefully considered, maybe because you feel like you’ve gone longer without breaking them since everybody else has already quit going to the gym, gone back to smoking, and is eyeing the dessert menu before you’ve even decided on what your resolutions might be.

I’m no angel, and I try not to be too much of a fool. My resolutions are still out there—UNBROKEN---waiting for me to come choose them. And I will.

Eventually.

Counting My Blessings 2016

2015 is in the books.

Good Riddance 2015

 I, for one, am glad to see the end of that year, a year that, in my family, we refer to as the First Worst Year. On January 4, 2015, Shane was killed in a car accident. I lost my husband, our—my--children lost their father and our world was turned upside down.

Grief is a long and arduous journey. In the First Worst Year you must somehow travel past all the holiday hazards and private milestones of your former life: Birthdays, anniversaries, the memory of a first kiss, Ground Hog’s Day, Flag Day---every day seems loaded with pain and memory. Breathing is difficult, the days interminable, the nights impossible.

Yet, somehow---time goes by. The days pass. People surround you with love and prayers and acts of service and you are somehow carried through. A month goes by, then two, more milestones pass. Eventually, there are some days when the grief seems “manageable,” and so you “manage” it. There are other days when the act of breathing seems more than you can manage and grief threatens to drown you.

Jordan, Cameron, Sue, & Devin

But you don’t actually drown. The bittersweet beauty of Life is that it continues. The sun rises. Flowers bloom. Babies are born. Joy comes in the morning. The waves of grief have both ebb and flow.

In this year of Worst Firsts, my family has had some pretty wonderful first as well. Falling in love, a college graduation, an engagement, new jobs, travel. We have had a multitude of blessings. Even in that very First of Worst Days, there was so much love shown to us. Love, lighting up the darkness and leading us through.

Do I think that grief is somehow “resolved” now that the Worst First is passed? I wish it were that simple. But I do believe that the small Light that shown in the darkness of those first days continues to grow...

To Do List

So. 

A Garden Gate post. 

For Christmas. 

Write one. 

And while you’re at it, write a Christmas letter for all your friends and family...

Sure.

No Problem. 

Words are my thing.

Honesty is also kind of my thing so therein lies the challenge. 

Since it’s Christmas, I feel the pressure to be all HO HO HO; full of Hope---which I am, and Good Cheer--which I feel kind of “eh” about. Not that I’m ANTI-Good Cheer mind you, just that my experience with it kind of comes and goes. I don’t feel like I can write a post all full of hot chocolate, candy canes and silver bells when I’m just not feeling it.

I have yet to buy a single present, wrap a single gift, or bake any Christmas goodies. My Christmas decorating is “lite” to say the least.

My tree spent the first week of its life as a Christmas tree abandoned on the back deck, listing

drunkenly in a wobbly stand that was six sizes too big. I refused to bring the poor thing in the house and it stayed outside during the worst of the wind and rain during the recent flood, repeatedly being blown over until I finally got tired of picking it up out of the mud and drug it inside...

I’ve put up my Christmas tree; not only have I put my Christmas tree up, I’ve decorated it. True, I didn’t use any of the traditional, emotionally loaded ornaments---but it is decorated.  And I’ve found that not only do I like it and think it’s beautiful, it makes me happy to look at it. That’s right, I said the “H” word, happy. I am happy when I look at my tree. Huh. Who knew?

As far as I’m concerned, that’s a Christmas miracle in its self.