Nothing matters and everything matters. Dust, ash, sunlight.
If time were an ally, it would lie in my lap and purr. Instead, it snaps in the frigid air like the cowhides once wielded by slave drivers to terrorize those bent over in the fields. Snap. Snap.
Can you count? I’m not sure. Because numbers aren’t really on my side either.
One month and six days.
The hollyhocks arrived. Two of them. Two lupines too because I read they’ll grow in the detritus under a birdfeeder. I’m gonna give clematis another go even though I’ve watched two or three or maybe even four crump before surviving a third season.
Five packs of morning glory seeds arrived. For years, one darling deep purple flower has appeared near the front stoop. I wait for it. Look for it.
This year, I didn’t want to rely on such slim odds. I didn’t want the suspense of wondering: will that morning glory return?
The seeds require scarification. “Rub them between sandpaper,” says the website, “then soak the seeds overnight.”
It is still too early to be planting in New England. Around here you wait at least until Mother’s Day, Memorial Day being better.
But how to wait, when the wish to add color and variety to the garden feels like a wish to survive? Without the garden, without the season of spring, without all that dirt beneath my fingernails, who even am I?
You’d be surprised what brings gratitude in these days of loss. Here’s one: I’m grateful I probably won’t live long enough to mark 20 years without him.
I’m grateful we can absolutely stay home this July and August. No scrambling for a destination, dog sitters, and reservations. We don’t have to go anywhere in September or October either. What a relief! What a fucking relief.
Another way the world has turned inside out.
In those last 10 days of Danny’s life, I walked over to Walgreens and bought white stickers for my calendar. Carefully, I covered up all the March hotel reservations we’d made for Montgomery and Vicksburg, for Baton Rouge and New Orleans. I didn’t want Danny to see them and feel bad that we had canceled a trip in order to be with him
“To be with him,” doesn’t begin to describe those last 10 days. He came and went like the ghost he was about to become. How little he noticed about his father or me or anything, really, making the stickers unnecessary.
The departure before the departure.
Now I can’t fathom wanting to fly to Montgomery and drive down to New Orleans. I can’t even fathom going to a beach on the North Shore because we used to visit Cape Ann as a family.
I’m busy muting words and marking posts as “not interested.” I don’t want to see references to Denver or Boulder or CU or Longmont. But after years of looking at real estate out there, it’ll take a while. And then there were all those recent searches: Reiki masters, intensive outpatient programs, post-suicide support groups, and so so many other things — all were local to Longmont and the intrusive algorithm remembers.
The pithy and sometimes wise quote-slides on Instagram about grief are another matter. They don’t spark hope, nothing could, but some speak about a path forward — and even though I have yet to believe a way forward exists, I linger on those quotes as if taking medicine.
The year of firsts. To start us off: Mother’s Day. I use the hand cream that Danny gave me last year now and then. He gave it to me in person because we were visiting Longmont last May. It’s the best kind of gift – indulgent but something I’d never have chosen for myself. I love the way the lotion smells. Unique. Not quite floral. How long will it last, I wonder every time I pump a dab into my palm.
We plan a new stoop to replace the crumbling brick one out front. It’s unsound, precarious even. Bluestone would be nice, expensive but nice. But if we’re not going to Colorado or Alabama or even to Gloucester, there are funds. The entrance to a house sets the tone, experts will tell you. We can make ours sturdier and more visually appealing.
If the season goes as expected, from the newly rebuilt stoop you’ll be able to see hollyhocks, lupines, and morning glories, plus birds flitting on and off the feeders. That might be the most extravagant pleasure I can muster this summer.
Meanwhile that box is filled with delicious rolls and soups and cookies. Thank you, Carol!
I have cooked about three times since we’ve been home. Can you imagine? Tonight, Risa brings dinner. Tomorrow, Ellen. Jane is on for Friday. The meal Rachel gave us last Friday provided at least three dinners and two lunches. We still have soups and prepared chicken dinners in the freezer from last week and the week before.
The bounty. The generosity. The care. It continues to blow me away.
I am glad you have so many good friends to bring you sustenance.
I am sorry that Mother’s day is coming so soon. It is a holiday that is so fraught with everything the older we get. Especially with a tragic loss like yours.
And…….The morning glories. They are glorious aren’t they? When I lived in Tucson I grew them on my upstairs balcony. They thrived in the heat and hung over the railing almost down to the ground below. It wasn’t until a neighbor came by and told me we are not allowed to grow morning glories in Arizona. What? Really? Yes, apparently the seeds fly on the wind, land on the cotton fields and choke out the crop. I had to rip them all out.
I am lucky in the friends department. And yeah, I wish Mother’s Day was months off instead of around the corner.
Ooh. The loss of those morning glories. Ouch!
Your flower planting sounds wonderful 💙
I plan to plant up containers with annuals too. I’ve only done those the last few years and now really love them.
You absolutely have wonderful neighbors .. such a help to be surrounded with all that love and kindness. We moved around a lot as a kid so like you we decided early on to stay put .. unfortunately the neighborhoods we could afford changed to where in order to feel safe we ended up moving although never that far. Dee we all did the best we could for our children … I don’t believe for a minute that you lost Danny because of anything you did or didn’t do. I lost be that you’ll be planting lots of flowers. Plants are good medicine.
I will get there on absolution. I will. Creating a beautiful garden for butterflies, birds, and bees is something I can look forward to, afford, and throw myself into. Good medicine is right.
It will be a splendid garden. Your morning glory seed packets are beautiful, let alone the flowers when they bloom. I’ve let the garden go a little wilder each year to benefit the wildlife. Two of our neighbors are into super neat, super short grass, and fine if they enjoy that. I don’t. Mother’s Day is one of those annual hurdles. My mother died on May 10 and every few years Mother’s Day falls on that anniversary, including this year. It will come and pass and we go on to the next day. You have true friends.
I was talking with two friends tonight whose mothers died on Mother’s Day. Tough.
Dee~ Oh Morning Glories!! I love them. Neighbors up the street have some and just passing by them brings so much joy. Inviting the butterflies and pollinators sounds like a worth plan. Tonight I was reading about the Morpho Butterflies. They are gorgeous. Every time we see any kind of butterfly on our walks, it lifts the spirit!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morpho_(genus)
Mother’s day. sigh. My oldest niece has her birthday on May 10th, Mexico’s Mother’s Day…the middle niece is on Cinco de Mayo. The 3rd niece didn’t land on a Mexican Holiday. Haha Every year I plan and hold my breath until it is over. It is just a “Hallmark Holiday” after all, right? Sigh.
How lucky are you in the friends & neighbors department 🙂
Take care
The blue of those morpho butterflies is really something!
The quilt with the red heart, so soft and so full of jagged and broken and red and black. With that one word and those wings. It feels infinite and beautiful. … and totally blows me away. <3
Thank you Sarah. It’s quite an old piece. Thinking about cloth hearts again, thanks to you.
I hope you buy yourself a supply of that hand cream … Liz A