Survive Grief Again

 In November, Mom passed away at the age of 90 and I’ve been thinking a lot about grief, again. I didn’t get to say goodbye to her, except in my heart. 

It has now been five years since my husband went out to get gas for his truck. I never saw him again. I had casually said goodbye, and it ended up being so.

In the days and weeks and months---and now years---that followed, I was given a crash course in grief.  I was also given a front row seat to seeing love in action. Loving people willingly walked into the darkness with me and held my hand. I learned much during that time and in the years since. 

I don’t think Americans are comfortable with the thought of grief; we don’t want to look at it, we don’t know how to deal with it. And, to be more honest, I don’t think we realize that you don’t “deal” with grief at all---you just experience it. Grief is not really “manageable” ---it just IS.

I can hear you saying “Gee Sue, thanks for the tip! Survive grief by NOT managing it. Awesome. Very helpful.” I know it seems counter intuitive, we want to DO something, FIX it, stop it, control it. Make the pain and the soul numbing sadness GO AWAY.

But you can’t. And it won’t. Eventually, the pain either lessens, or we become more accustomed to it but I don’t know that it ever STOPS.  At five years in I’m still learning as I go. 

Hydrate. Cry. Repeat.

 

But I DO know how to survive the First Worsts, the first awful year following a loss. The best advice I can give you is to go ahead and GRIEVE. Let it in. Weep. Mourn. Find comfort in Ritual, even if you need to invent one for yourself. Don’t shut off your feelings and don’t let others---as well-meaning as they might be—try to shut your grief down. 

Grieving takes time. Lots of it. Everyone is different, don’t let anyone tell you that you need to “move on.” That’s probably just their blissful ignorance talking---they don’t know the hard truth that you know. You are moving through grief, tears and pain and sadness are a part of that process. Stay hydrated. Seriously—when all else fails, go drink a glass of water. It’s one tiny thing you can DO to make things better. And if it’s not “better”? Well, at least it didn’t make things worse. Some days, that itself is a victory.

The Man Behind Curtain Number Three

I’ve been asked for my opinion on the differences between on-line dating sites; specifically, Match.com and eHarmony. Both sites cost about the same for a six-month membership, both have safety suggestions and tips about how to set up a profile. I learned the hard way that Match.com will—for a price—write a profile for you. After reading hundreds of profiles of “men in your area!” there appeared to be a pattern to some of the exceptional ones. A second reading of those confirmed that who I’d really like to date is the person who ghost writes dating profiles for a living. Sadly, they were not available.

Cat food, lemon curd, tea, duct tape, and bleach. Stop judging me.

eHarmony has the best questions in their repertoire. They ask the best questions to help you fill out your profile and have an impressive list of conversation starters to help you break the ice— “List five items in your shopping cart” or --- well, I don’t really remember any other questions, but they were good ones. So good, in fact, that I would use them over at Match.com, where the questions weren’t as good, but there were more men in my 100-mile range. For the record I said the five items in my cart were “Cat food, lemon curd, tea, duct tape, and bleach. Stop judging me.”

At eHarmony, every time I tried to adjust my range area down to 100 miles, they would give me a yellow warning sign and tell me of all the great matches that I was missing out on in Calgary. As in Canada. I’m convinced eHarmony owns stock in an airline that flies solely to Calgary. I apologize, undiscovered Canadian Soulmate, I’m not in the mood for a relationship that depends on the cooperation of the TSA. Alas!

I’m not going to lie—on-line dating is a lot of work. Done properly, it’s like having a second job. You have to constantly keep reading profiles, starting or responding to conversations, keeping track of which “Bob” is which. For some reason, every third man in my age demographic was called “Bob.” As aliases go, “Bob” is perfectly acceptable, but you’d think the “Bobs” show a little creativity and branch out. Although I suppose going by “Rich” has its drawbacks, now that I think about it.

I dated only in my age demographic—I found it far too depressing to even think about having a romantic relationship with someone who didn’t understand the concept of “phone booths” and “rabbit ears.” I don’t have time to explain all my cultural references. You had to be there, seriously. Good times, good times...

I tried to do all the right things, take sensible precautions, not be too urgent—after all, I signed up for six-months! Plenty of time, for plenty of fish in the sea.

Turns out though—it was the second guy I talked to that ended up being The Guy. After three months on-line, two different dating sites, a plethora of emails and a handful of assorted dates, I found myself repeatedly drawn back to Jon. Jon is funny, and wise—meaning he thinks I’m funny—and is very Zen. He loves to read, makes his own salsa, and is kind. In the bonus category, he smells delicious, is taller than I am, and wrote his own profile. Since we met on Match.com, I must say—it’s the best $146 I ever invested.

Wait—There’s a Man Behind the Curtain?

Ok. So, I panicked and decided to spill the beans—yes, Gentle Reader, there IS a man behind the curtain. Kind of, I guess. Anyway.

Last April, I had had enough of my broken heart. I had had enough of being alone. I had Love once—and I wanted it again.

Shane and I had been together for over 30 years—we had known each other since we were 15, raised three sons together, traversed all the curves that life can throw at you, drove each other just the right amount of crazy, and loved each other deeply. Then he was gone and I was left to carry on. Alone.

I believe we are built for relationship—with our Creator and with each other. I am a full, entire person in my own right—but I am even better as a partner. After four years --five now, in 2020-- of moving through all the cycles and circles of grief, I felt ready to move on.

It seemed like a good idea at the time...

I started thinking that for my birthday in June I’d throw myself a “Girl’s Night In” Birthday Party. I’d invite my incredible women friends; we’d drink margaritas and write up an on-line dating profile that would be irresistible. I was really looking forward to it. I bought super cute party invitations, I planned the hors d’oeuvres—because Cheetos are, too, hors d’oeuvres, stop judging me.

But June is a long time away from January. February was hard. March was 31 lonely days long. April arrived and something inside just snapped. Suddenly, April Fools seemed like an auspicious day to dive into on-line dating, right? So, I did. Just me and my good friend ‘Rita. We sat down with a credit card—mine, not hers-- and started signing up at multiple sites. And by multiple I mean two—Match.com and eHarmony. Even ‘Rita isn’t that crazy. In a burst of brazen honesty—and the realization that no matter how vast the Internet seems the world is small—I told my kids. I figured it was better they heard it from me first. Pretty sure my kids hoped I was pranking them. Sorry kids, ‘Rita knows best!

The next day, I called a couple of friends to confess what I had done and to get some input on improving my “profile.” They provided some polish, a few safety tips, told me to just relax and have fun. And you know—they were right.

I had fun. I chatted with some nice people - and a few dodgy ones. I poked a couple of holes in some scammers—seriously, has anybody else met a person with a PhD who wasn’t thrilled if you asked them what they wrote their thesis on? It seemed highly unlikely he had a doctorate—what with his inability to use the proper “there, they’re, their.” Anyway, I have some great stories to tell.

For example, the guy that had a riddle as part of his profile and invited women to answer it. The riddle went something like this: “In my deserted mountain cabin are 150 dead souls—how did it happen?” Or maybe it was how did they get there? Anyway, it was something like that and I typed back a long and funny –because I’m very funny—reply about the dangers of skiing while playing a game of “stack the phonebooth.”

 “No,” he said. “Try again.”

 Just those three words, not even a “lol.” And I’m very funny!

So, I write a second, long response about how the first was my story and I was sticking to it, that they’d never be able to prove anything, that I had at least three alibis, etc., etc.

“No. Guess again.” No smiley face, nothing.

Hmm. This time I just typed back “Are the dead bodies flies?”

“No,” came the reply. “Again.”

No. Nope. No thank you. I gave you PARAGRAPHS of effort and all you give me as a reward is three or four SYLLABLES? And those were syllables telling me WHAT TO DO? Dude, you didn’t even “LOL.” Not a relationship I’m interested in having, thank you very much, Mr. Loquacious. That was actually his profile name, “Loquacious.” I hope he meant it ironically. Also, it only now occurs to me that perhaps the 150 dead bodies thing wasn’t a riddle as much as a confession. Either way, dodged a bullet there.

I really would like to know the answer to that one though...do you suppose it was 75 pairs of worn out shoes?

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

It’s Tuesday morning—if you can call 2:30 am “morning” --- and I can’t sleep. After two hours of tossing and turning and annoying the cats, I finally give in and get up. Rising at 4:30 am makes me feel virtuous—as though I were getting a jump on the day --- get the cows milked and the chickens fed, all before sunup.

After my first cup of high-octane tea I remembered I have neither heifer nor hen. Mostly because getting up early is not my cup of tea. By my second cup of tea—which is, literally, my cup of tea-- I remembered I have a Garden Gate due yesterday. Oops!

What to write? My SBG is still at the water/fertilize/nap stage so there’s not much to write about there. Do I write about the Stay at Home/Stay Healthy Don’t Kill My Friends Order? Because while I know it’s hard to do—I miss my kids and grand kids in a visceral way-- I also understand the science behind it and the need for it. But even I am not in the mood for that soapbox today.

Should I write about how weird it is when I went to Costco for supplies and they had zero fresh chicken? As in NONE. They did have plenty of ground turkey—and by plenty I mean they had the entire refrigerator case that used to hold chicken tenderloins, breasts and thighs stacked three deep … now holds ground turkey—spread one package deep over the entire case. It’s very good psychologically—It keeps people from getting that “plague of locusts” I-must-consume-this-before-you-do feeling. Which is good, because I’m not a fan of ground turkey.

I am a fan of bathroom tissue. Out of curiosity I check to see if they have any. Nope. But I was told they had some earlier.

As Americans, we are so used to plenty, so used to buying in bulk at Costco—because it’s COSTCO for heaven’s sake! It’s what they’re FOR, and having limits on items is rather disconcerting. Once again, I’m glad they have them, I just wish we were back in a time when limits weren’t necessary.

None of these topics are entertaining me this morning; they are all a little too close to the bone. So, after my third cup of tea I thought, “What if I tell you about my many adventures in on-line dating?”

GULP.

I think I’m going to need more tea.

Gardening in a Time of Pandemic

The sun has been lovely these last couple of days. I find it so much easier to be optimistic with the sun on my face. My gardens are receiving a little more TLC that is “normal”—in part because of the sun, but the truth is the Stay at Home order has a lot to do with it. “Stay at Home” means not running off to nurseries near and far and indulging my flower fixation. Or buying shoes. Or whatever. Anyway, I’m at home.

Working on the layout.

I’ve decided that I want to have a vegetable garden this year. Since I own neither tiller nor tractor-- and am far too lazy to employ a shovel—I’ve decided to go the Straw Bale Garden route and save myself a lot of labor. My bales were well under $10 each, and available locally—Overby’s Hay & Grain, for the curious.

For once, I’ve started the 12 day “maturation” process well ahead of local planting time, so I’ve had time to play with the design layout of my garden. I’m going rather small—a five bale garden—and have oriented the garden to best take advantage of the sun, while still staying clear of any lawn shenanigans that might ensue over the summer: Slip ‘n Slide, Beersbee—it’s Frisbee, but with beer, Wiffleball, Cornhole, what have you. I’m holding on to optimism that perhaps some little “normal” will be reestablished and the clan can gather once more. When it does, I plan that my SBG won’t be in the path.

I’m still mulling over what I want to plant: tomatoes are a given, but there are carrots, green beans, potatoes, radishes, lettuces, pumpkins...I don’t think corn is a good crop for SBG—too top heavy/tippy and would use up a lot of my available planting area---and I’m having fun choosing what to plant. I may or may not have added a packet of zucchini seeds to my shopping cart. Strange days indeed.

I have NO IDEA how those
zucchini seeds got in there!

I have a package of marigold seeds to plant—I’ll transplant the seedlings into the sides of the bales. There they can both beautify and protect, as many garden pests don’t like marigolds.

One of my favorite summer activities that revolves around gardening is taking and giving garden tours with fellow gardeners. I suppose this year we can do it “virtually” --but they will be a lot less likely to help me weed or deadhead. **sigh** Fortunately, one of the upsides of SBG is you have far fewer weeds to pull.

My neighborhood is busy with vegetable garden prep, and I have a feeling many people will be looking for a healthy, at-home hobby. Gardening can nourish both body and soul, so go get your grubbies on and go play in the dirt. 

Or the straw, whatever.

Write It Down: Day One of LockDown by Any Other Name

Now is a good time to keep a blog/journal/diary of current events from your perspective. Keeping on in your own handwriting is a bonus--I'll award extra credit points for hand written entries. And the end of this project you may cash in those extra credit points towards a toaster oven.
Editor's note: there is no toaster oven, but please feel free to play along.

In case you are wondering WHAT in the heck you're going write about, I've compiled this handy-dandy list of writing prompts:

My must haves--plus tea.

1) Describe your living situation: who/what/where/how. Be sure to include a tally of available rolls of "bathroom tissue."

2) Biggest fear. Might as well haul it out into the daylight and take a look at it.

3) Thing you miss the most.

4) Dumb thing you miss.

5) Something you don't miss AT ALL/A.K.A. a good thing that has come from this.

6) What is your daily routine like? "My New Normal."
6b) Revisit this topic every 10 days and track the changes.

7) Are your meals/meal times different? Describe a meal you just had.

8) Imagine a Post-Virus Cookbook--what would the recipes have as a main ingredient?

9) Crafts using T.P.: will we wallpaper with it?

10) Celebrity you would most like/dislike to quarantine with.

11) Write a Covid-19 Haiku. (5/7/5 if you've forgotten)

12) "When I realized this crap was real"--day/event.

13) Turns out, this was all a dream-- like that season of Dallas with Bobby in the shower. Here is how my friends reacted when I told them my *dream.*

14) Is the POTUS a Zombie Creator? Discuss. Outlandish claims welcome.

15) Make a list of all the positive outcomes: i.e. birdsong, cleaner air, etc. or relate a positive story you know about.

16) What is your go-to stress reliever? Before/Now. Same/Different? Personally--i'm all about the bubblebath.

17) Write a Covid-19 Cinquain. Google cinquain. I'M NOT DOING YOUR HOMEWORK, BOB!

18) Write a short story about a person waking up with amnesia and trying to go about their daily "before" life. What do they tell them selves to explain all the differences?

19) Write about Food Banks in a time of Covid.

20) What color would you repaint your shelter-in-place surroundings if you could?

21) Re-name the color rainbow--think fingernail polish names or paint colors. What would you call beige?  What would you call__________?

22) Weirdest thing you bought on-line.

23) Weirdest food you purchased in a grocery store.

24) What/When was your last day of "normal" life like?

25) Dream location to shelter-in-place?

Feel free to share these prompts with others, kindly give credit here to #OverMyGardenGateBlogger.
Thanks, and stay safe!

Virtual Real Life

By now, even the most blissfully oblivious among us have noticed that “normal” is a bit different than “business as usual.”

There are all kinds of advice and information—even mis-information-- available on public safety, proper hand washing, social distancing. Hopefully you’ve paid attention to the Very Fine Advice available, but if you haven’t, here’s the cheat sheet: 1) You can have the virus and share it BEFORE you have any symptoms. SO-- just because y’all are feeling find doesn’t mean you still can’t infect grandma. And since I’ve officially become a grandma, I TAKE THIS PERSONALLY.

2) Wash your hands often, for at LEAST 20 seconds, WITH SOAP (your mom was right about that) and turn off the water with a paper towel if possible. Disinfect surfaces often AND STOP LICKING DOOR HANDLES, I SEE YOU, INTERNET. For the rest of you, stop touching your face.

3) To social distance: just pretend you’re better than everyone else and space accordingly. Just kidding--but do keep 6-10 feet apart in public. That means new line etiquette, don’t get in your cashier’s face when paying/ordering, and you can go to Disneyland when this is all over, but not now. STAY HOME. Yes, you can go for a walk in the woods, but stay 6-10 feet away from bears. Or other hikers, whatever. Google “flatten the curve” and see why it’s so important we do this NOW. As an aside, I can only hope someone hasn’t turned #Flatten the Curve into one of those risqué sites...

If you can afford to, consider keeping your appointments with small business owners, but keep them “virtually”. Order your coffee, pick it up and then chat with your buddies via FaceTIme. Personally, I’m “keeping” my appointments (paying for them) but not going “in office” to get them. I can help keep my local economy going, I can keep myself and my neighbors safe. I know not everyone can do this—but if you can, please consider it. I promised my hairdresser I wouldn’t cut my own bangs in the meantime, so I believe she’s on board with my plan.

4) Take care of your immune system. Laughter is good medicine, so here’s my recent favorite, regarding toilet paper hoarding: “Back in my day, there was so much TP, people used to literally string it up in the trees of their enemies.”

 Eat your veggies, drink plenty of water and get plenty of sleep. Mom was right again!

 Check in with your neighbors, Senior Citizens, and friends. We all need connection, even as we “distance.” Thinking about others takes your mind of your own worries. 

We truly are all in this together. Six feet apart.

Mother of Dragons

I am the mother of boys.

I have very little experience with girls—other than my own distant memory as a girl of being told to pull up my knee socks and to comb my hair. SPOILER ALERT—as an adult I solved those two problems by no longer wearing knee socks and... come to think of it, I still need to comb my hair, but that is not my point.

My point is that put in my time in the Boy Trenches of parenthood—where prom dresses and princess hair weren’t really a thing we did. We did lots of mud and motorbikes and rolling around on the ground. Eventually, my boys have all grown up to be men, realized that girls don’t actually have cooties and have fallen in love.

 I really enjoying having these girls—women-- in my life. And while we don’t go prom dress shopping together—apparently there aren’t a lot of Adult Proms—they have each graciously invited me to go bridal gown shopping.

Bridal gown shopping is THE BEST SHOPPING. And I’m not just saying that because of the mimosas. Although mimosas are delightful, I’m not gonna lie. Bridal gown shopping always entails brunch and the entire reason for brunch is not to have a mix of breakfast and lunch foods as I once believed, but to have a boozy breakfast/lunch with out the “is it five o’clock somewhere” guilts. Add a wee splash of juice to champagne, call the meal “brunch,” and celebrate at will. Being a girl is awesome! Who knew?

After brunch we head to the first of two bridal shops—always conveniently located within walking distance. So consistently convenient that I wonder-- which came first, the bridal shop or the brunch spot? “Gee, I’d really like to open a Bridal Boutique on this block but there are no brunch places nearby. Sad.”

Without fail, we never find The Dress at the first shop. It is entirely possible that we are only at this first shop to kill time while we sober up before driving to the next shop where we will find The Dress of her Dreams.

Christmas Tree Decorating 2019 Edition

How big the tree seems "in the wild."

My Christmas tree was delivered on Friday and, as I’ve said before, the Sume’s are big on tradition. As with almost all traditions, the Tree Getting Tradition has evolved over time. For the last several years the tree-getting tradition has morphed into my tree being delivered to me, securely affixed in its stand, and the lights applied utilizing teamwork. It’s a sweet tradition in my opinion, one that warms my heart.

This year, the tradition included the addition of one small helper. “Baby” John Shane was on hand to oversee the critical task of trimming off the lower section of tree trunk. A fresh cut ensures that the tree will both be able to take up water and clear the ceiling. The fact that his daddy Jordan used a chainsaw to accomplish the task made it all the more enjoyable for lil’ John. I happen to have it on good authority—Mama Elise told me-- that someone will be finding a wee chainsaw under the tree Christmas morning, but I digress.

It’s quite a blessing to be able to experience Christmas through the eyes of a child. At 16 months old, everything is magical to John. He toddles about, carrying the freshly cut segment of tree and offering it each of us to smell. He piles Duplo blocks on the tree branches as ornamentation and reminds me that there is Another Good Reason to tie my tree to the wall with fishing line, and to crimp the ornament hangers tightly to the tree branches.

How big the tree is when you get it home.

Love continues to multiply. Early next year the Sume Family will welcome another baby boy. Devin and Staci will begin the odyssey of worry and wonder that is parenting. In the fall, the Sume Family will welcome another member as Cameron marries his Beloved, Beth. My Christmas tree is up, bright enough to be visible from space, and my friend Jon is coming over to help me decorate the rest of it. Life is good. My heart is full.

Bring on the Season!

Mood: Reflective

November is drawing to a close. Thanksgiving is behind us, the Christmas season before us. It’s a good time to sit next to the fire, a fuzzy bundle of blanket—or cat—in your lap. Cup your palms around the warm of your favorite mug; sip, savor, reflect, plan.

We are headed into the shortening of the light, day slipping into night at a faster rate. We push back against the darkness with light—Christmas lights, candlelights-- the light shared with those we love; the light commemorating those we have lost.

I have a favorite poem I Like to read this time of year, “In Dark December,” by Ralph Murre. Worth the Google, I promise. You can also find his work here: http://littleeaglereverse.blogspot.com. The poem begins simply “Whatever you believe, whatever you do not, there are sacred rite you must perform in dark December...” and goes on to encourage the coming together, the feasting and friendship between “...family and friends, cool cats and stray dogs alike...” and invites us to “...Reach so far in your sharing that you hold the sun in one hand, the stars in the other, and no one between is hungry...”

The simple beauty of those words, the truth and hope in them, are a candle all their own, a reminder to “Be kinder than necessary, because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle”-JM Barry.

Of course, this advice is better offered after one has braved the battle of Black Friday shopping, because those bargains aren’t going to find themselves. Cyber Monday has now been upgraded to Cyber Monday Week, because if we all battle on the interwebz at the same time, the whole thing can come crashing down. There is probably some sort of allegory there, but I have yet to divine it.

Back on the home front, I have some Christmas lights up and I am looking forward to getting my tree. This Christmas is not my First Worst, but it will be for some. I remind myself to be kinder; to hold the sun and stars and to light the in-between places; to build—not walls—but a bigger table, room for cool cats and stray dogs, alike.

Heavy Heart 2018

I find myself sitting in front of the key board and, once again, I don’t know quite what to say. The recent events in the news, the bombs mailed to an enemies list that included past Presidents, current members of Congress, and a news organization; a shooter who appeared to target only those whose skin contain more melanin than his, and shot and killed two African American grandparents who were grocery shopping; a gunman---spouting conspiracy theories and acting out hate-- entered a synagogue and ruthlessly murdered people at prayer; these acts are beyond imagining, let alone understanding. When the weapons of war are loosed on people at play, in our schools, at prayer; when human life is taken with such utter contempt---it’s easy to fall in to despair. It is easy to say that we live in a sick and twisted world, that things are rotten and getting worse, that the center cannot hold. And while it’s understandable to lose heart and despair, that statement is a Big Fat LIE.

Last October, I was trying to write a column about the Los Vegas Shooter, and I wrote “The world is not a sick and twisted place—that individual was. We don’t know his full story and I won’t use his name---but he is not who we are, his acts do not define Humanity. Humanity is beautiful.

Humanity shines in darkness. Humanity shows up to help. Humanity covers loved ones and strangers alike with their own bodies, a shield made not only of vulnerable flesh and bone but of indestructible, enduring Love. Humanity refuses to leave. Humanity stays with the fallen, giving first aid, carrying others to safety. Humanity lines up at two a.m. to give blood, stands in lines for hours to make that happen. Humanity weeps and mourns and comforts each other.”

It is October, a year later. It is easy to focus on the Darkness, the things that divide us; and when Darkness comes, it is too easy to consider the black and despair. But there is Light, and it destroys the darkness. You just need to look for it, to focus on the Light.

There is a tradition in the Jewish community of performing good works in memory of a lost love one instead of placing flowers. I invite you to fight the darkness by spreading kindness, by doing a good deed, by helping others. Make a point of doing something positive for someone else this week. Fight back against the darkness with Love.

Fred Rogers—Mr. Rogers--- famously said of disasters “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” And that is true. Humanity shows up to help. And that, my friends, is a beautiful, blessed thing. Be what is best about humanity—be a helper, give love, spread kindness.

Circle of Life: John Shane Edition

On the second day of August, in the year of our Lord 2018, the Sume family experienced the upside of the Circle of Life.

John Shane Sume, six pounds, two whole ounces, made his way from his namesake’s arms to ours.

I have, on my phone, approximately 487 baby pictures, and if I happen to run into anybody I even think looks vaguely familiar, I’m happy to prove it. 

Little John-John—as I like to call him—is a pretty typical newborn. Meaning he’s very beautiful--with all those tiny fingers and toes—and clearly a genius. Seriously, the boy has benevolent-Rocket-Scientist-with-a-great-sense-of-humor-and-a-poet’s-soul written all over him. True, I had to write kind of small, because at 18.5” there wasn’t a lot of surface area to work with. But, I managed to squeeze it all in.

Anyway—that’s what’s new in the Sume Garden of Life, a brand-new, bouncing baby boy. We are counting our blessings.