September Mourn

 September has traditionally been a hard month for me.  But what was once a debilitating time has settled into more of a dull ache, a tender heart, tears closer to the surface.  I have learned to ride the wave of feelings and feel what needs to be felt.  Fortunately with all the healing practices I have learned, I no longer get stuck in my head for long.

But this September has been a challenge.  First, my little 8 week old granddaughter was admitted to a pediatric hospital not being able to hold down any food.  She was born in the 38th percentile of weight and, in two months, had fallen to 4th.  Then to complicate matters, she contracted Covid and was having difficulty breathing.  Going to the hospital, seeing that tiny girl with an IV and on oxygen was heartbreaking.  Once the oxygen was removed, she was put on a feeding tube.  I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so helpless as when seeing my daughter, holding her baby, while tears spilled down her cheeks. 

Then I got news that a friend had committed suicide.  She and I had adjoining offices for over a decade and I knew her to be one of the friendliest people I knew.  Always smiling, always lifting others up, always volunteering for every cause.  Afterward, a relative said that she had always suffered from depression.  No one knew.  Our entire community was shocked. No one would have even guessed.  It haunts me that someone could carry so much pain. Silently.

Lastly, a dear friend suffered the unimaginable death of her 4 year old daughter and 5 year old nephew, decades ago, to a drunk driver. Last year this friend moved to Arizona and recently called to say that the move is now permanent and she needed to come back to arrange for her daughter’s remains to be moved, to be with her.  She stayed with us a couple of days and I accompanied her to the funeral director to arrange for the transfer.  I sat in stunned silence. I can’t even imagine how a mother does this.

September.  A time when I can easily fall into my own self pity has me profoundly aware of so much pain in the world.  Yet my own therapy path also has me trained to find things to be grateful for, of which there are many.  The baby is slowly improving.  We went to three joy filled weddings.  The light and leaves are changing making for an awesome landscape.

Still, I am struggling, knowing there is so much hidden suffering in the world.   

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Where Have All the Veggies Gone ?

 The trials and tribulations of gardening.

I planted my small vegetable garden, as usual, in early May.  Mostly green beans which I freeze for use all year and tomatoes which we eat as they ripen and also to can pasta sauce and some chili.  I also plant some other veggies  - cukes, eggplant, zucchini and melons. 

This was my garden shortly after planting.  

Then one day, the zucchini disappeared.  The next day,  the eggplant.  And then the cukes and the melons

No trace left.

I

I had also planted sunflowers in between the cherry tomatoes.  Do you see them?  Me neither.  Gone. Eaten right down to the ground.

And then, one evening, I saw it.  The rabbit.  Happily dining at the buffet.  

I have never had this problem before and the garden is surrounded by a chain link fence.  But then I realized what had changed.  My dog died in March.  And although she was too old to catch a rabbit, I’m sure she was able to chase them out of the yard. Or maybe just her smell kept them away.

I have now surrounded the garden with a layer of chicken wire.  I planted a second seeding of beans although, unless we have a very late frost, I doubt there will be time for them to mature.  Fingers crossed.  I still have some green tomatoes ripening, but not enough to put up all the sauce I usually make to get us through the year.   Zucchini, cukes and melons will have to be purchased at a farmer’s market.  

Squirrels usually eat most of the fruit on my apple, plum and peach trees.  Now rabbits have decimated the veggies.  I don’t know how pioneering folk ever survived, nor how today's farmers are navigating the devastating impacts of climate change.  I am now keenly aware of what it takes to be able to provide food.   If I had to depend on my own garden, I would definitely starve.

If you want to make god laugh . . .

 

. . . just tell him your plans.

Having had a career in the planning profession, this was a common joke as plans were rarely, if ever, developed as originally conceived.

Which brings me to my unborn granddaughter, conceived 40 weeks ago. 

She is my oldest daughter’s second child.  Due date - July 9th.

But as the pregnancy continued into the later weeks, the baby was breech.  Massage, and chiropractic appointments couldn’t get her to turn and so a cesarean section was scheduled for July 3rd.  Since Martha and I would be babysitting her 19 month old son and dog at her house, we packed for a few days, cancelled and rescheduled all appointments we had rushed to make before the 9th due date, and went crazy finishing yard work and other projects.  We were ready.

The morning of the 3rd we kissed our daughter and son-in-law good-bye as they left for the hospital, all packed and ready to bring home their new daughter.  Then, about two hours later, they returned empty handed.  Apparently in the last couple of days, that little girl made the flip, head down, and the doctor sent them home to wait a normal labor and delivery.

Now, everything we bumped to the week of the 10th is being rescheduled.  Again.  

Our daughter is doing everything she can to speed things along but her last exam showed no signs of the start of labor.  Her first baby was almost a week late. I think we will re-rescheduling more appointments and unfortunately, selling tickets to some events we have this weekend.

I believe I hear god laughing. 

In memory

 

Misha, 16+ years old, died peacefully and without pain in her bed, assisted by vet Carlin, and surrounded by her loving family, the morning of May 31st.  

Misha slowly became deaf and suffered from hip and rear leg pain the last years of her life but was always up and excited for her daily walk.  Until she wasn’t.  Which was the sign that she was ready to go, even though we would never be ready to say goodbye.  

Misha came to us from a rescue group having been separated from her mother and found lying in a puddle in Tennessee.  I had not wanted another dog but Peachie and Martha did and promised to be her main caretaker.  That didn’t even last a week.  So for 16 years I got up early, fed her, and explored the neighborhood with her as we pondered nature and life together.  

She loved car rides, especially to Peachie’s college where we would watch Peachie play her sport and Misha became the unofficial team mascot, decked out in collegiate bandana and collar.  She also loved our lake house, especially watching ducks, geese and other dogs play in the water.  She, herself, would never put so much as a paw in the lake.  Odd for a mostly labrador mix but one never knows the former trauma of a rescue dog.

She had the softest ears that just invited touching.

She was a gentle dog who quietly tolerated her sister cats and then two toddler boys climbing on her as they learned about ‘gentle hands’.   Mostly she loved being with her people.

On the morning of her passing, as we all sat on the floor with her, she went around and gave each of us a kiss.  I think she knew she was about to cross and was saying goodbye.  There were lots of tears.  There still are. She was the best girl. She will be greatly missed. 

Unconditional love is a mighty gift.

The Estate Sale

 A while back a friend invited me to join her at an estate sale.   I had been to one years ago where rooms of beautiful antique furniture were on display and for sale.  Being a lover of old-fashioned wood craftsmanship, I happily agreed to go.

We drove for about an hour as the landscape became more and more rural and eventually wound up at a small, deteriorating farmhouse.  I thought perhaps I was going to be treated to displays of handmade rustic furniture but instead walked into rooms that all look like this:

Every room contained card tables of odd bric-a-brac, a collection of memories for whoever had lived in this house.  The bedroom closets still had clothes hanging (for sale) as if the occupants had just stepped out for a moment.  Everything else from cabinets to drawers, had been scooped up and randomly piled on these makeshift tables throughout the house.  

I got so unnerved that I had to leave and wait in the car.  I felt that all these people who had come to the sale were stampeding like bulls in a very personal china shop.  And I hoped that whoever had lived here had been able to leave a more enduring legacy than tables of knickknacks and kitchenware.

My spouse cannot throw away anything.  Our small house is overflowing with “stuff”, much to my consternation.  I assume her clutter tendencies are from being orphaned at a very young age and having an emotional need to hang onto things.  I, on the other hand, once lost literally everything I owned as a young adult and learned the downside of too much attachment to things. Now I own very few things that I don’t have a daily use for.  Except for clothing, musical instruments and some books (which I have weeded down to just classics and collectibles), all my stuff could probably fit in one box. 

As we age together, I keep thinking back to that estate sale and wonder what will happen to all the stuff in our house.  I have talked to Martha about not leaving the burden of disposing of the contents to our daughters who have emphatically said they do not want 99% of it.   She nods and agrees yet still can’t part with any of it.  And I keep walking around imagining card tables in every room, piled high with her stuff, and strangers pawing over them, looking for some prized knickknack that their kids will have to dispose of.

Marriage Resolutions

I recently learned of a former acquaintance who is heartbroken after her 3rd marriage has dissolved.   I also read a story about a couple divorcing after 70 years of marriage.

I thought I was beyond making New Year’s resolutions as, at my age,  I am pretty set in my ways. But these two occurrences had me thinking about marriages and what makes them work. Or not. 

Martha and I have been together for over 30 years and I realize that I often take the relationship for granted.  She takes care of so much family stuff, household cleanliness and repair issues that I don't even have to think about it.  She also drives me nuts with her clutter, forgetfulness and Amazon addiction.  I think she is going deaf - or, more likely, she just tunes me out.   And I’m sure she has a long list of the ways I annoy her.  We have lived through many of life’s chapters with lots of love and laughter.  But I shouldn't assume it will continue without some care and attention. 

I know many marriages end for very, very good reasons.  But many also end because of neglect. 

So my 2023 resolution is to be more mindful of our relationship and to do something thoughtful or kind for her every day.  

Well, maybe at least 5 days a week.  No sense in falling into the resolution trap of setting unrealistic goals.