I bury comfrey leaves in the dusty soil under the holly and next to a hellebore. It is an act of faith, but also a ritual informed by grief for look how dry and pale the soil is, even after a weekend of rain.
And, as if such a calculation mattered, I wonder which is bigger, my grief at all the injuries to the natural world or my grief at the passing of my younger son.
Does one grief nest inside the other like two Russian dolls? It can’t possibly be that neat. More like the two griefs permeate the air, the yard, and my body in undulating waves that cannot be measured or even separated one from the other.
I listened earlier to the parents of a young man stolen on October 7 and murdered some 300 days later and though the circumstances of our boys’ deaths have nothing in common, our sorrow is the same.
“I am broken,” says the mother. “And I will be broken for the rest of my life.” They feel their son near. The father says he thinks of him every minute of every day.
I too am broken. I too think of my son constantly – more, in fact, than when he was alive, which is some contorted form of irony.
I have regrets they will never have. That is one of my burdens. The regrets come and go like the sadness: unbidden, unwelcome, excruciating,
Why didn’t I talk to you more in those last two weeks? Why didn’t I ask you to tell me why you thought life wasn’t worth living anymore? I picture myself patting the couch saying sit for a minute and putting my arm around him for what could’ve been the last time.
The nitrogen–uptake capacity of the comfrey makes it ideal for composting. You can make salves and teas and poultices as well, but this year I plan only to bury its leaves in the garden beds.
Is there anything I can bury near the barren patch of my being that might at some later date afford growth?
Today, I doubt it.
But I will gather chive, thyme, and rosemary from their pots and chop them up to make herb butter. Lemon zest, salt, and garlic for extra flavor. The act signals belief in sustenance ahead. There will be tasty dinners down the road and some above average snacks. That there is a reason to harvest aromatic herbs even when swimming in grief offers me a droplet of satisfaction. No more. No less.
“Above average snacks ”
“Grief is a badge of love.”
These two bits jump out and grab me.
Above average snacks speaks to life, doesn’t it?
And permeating the world of grief commentary, there is this helpful notion that grief is love with nowhere to go, or grief is a sign that you loved deeply. It’s not a silver lining. I think it’s an accurate way to describe it, don’t you?
Yessss! If you’re going to have snacks, may they all be above average, or else why bother?!?
I’m finding grief ambushes me, confuses me, leaves me abandoned when I think I’m either fine or heartless, and then swoops in and consumes me. Hidden triggers. Ugh.
I totally relate to the love with nowhere to go, and also the loved deeply part. It’s not like I hadn’t imagined that John would die before me, bc I had. I wish we had found our way to the re-connection that came from uncluttering, so many forms of uncluttering, much, much sooner. As rod stewart (is it rod stewart?) sings: I wish that I’d known what I know now when I was younger.
I’ve been thinking a lot about mothers recently. Early in my time with Stevie she said something along the lines of “we all need lots of mothers.” Thank goodness I have had some excellent mothers (your mom served me well in ways that my mother simply could not). John also mothered me into who I am now, recognizing strengths I didn’t see, and though I thanked him directly for his support of the me I now find myself to be, I wish he was here to see this me he always saw. Blah blah blah. But it’s real.
The regrets are hard. Today we sat down with a friend of Danny’s from high school. There was so much we didn’t know. Many in Danny’s cohort were at times feeling suicidal, apparently. Ages 16-17. There were four suicides in Newton in a short span of time, three of them high school students. The community absolutely panicked. Suicide-contagion is real. And the administrators were trying to control the flow of information when, because of cell phones, all the kids knew where and how the suicides had taken place days before official statements were made (without revealing details).
It is so tough to come of age at any time but with the relatively recent introduction of cell phones (plus the climate crisis, economic uncertainties), it was particularly difficult then. It must be very difficult now.
As for clearing the clutter, yes it’s too bad you couldn’t experience the relief of that together, but I’ve seen how your efforts have created such a tangible and productive way to move within your grief that I’m glad it happened the way it did.
You put into words what we imagine the unimaginable to be …
I love “grief is a love with nowhere to go”, and it swirls in and out differently for each of us. I have come to expect to be sideswiped, time and again by odd “triggers”: completely unanticipated conversations, certain objects, circumstances, voices, gusts of wind or specific types of trees. I can be blasted into a place of grief – as these losses age, I might just “mark it” because I’m driving the car or whatever. For example today, I needed my older sister’s voice and she will never be there again. I now am touched by my love for her and have to go “pound sand” and get back to the present world alone. But, she was a sister, not my child. And, Dee, losing a child (on top that to suicide) has got to be the most penetrating and relentlessly deep grief there is. If any mom were to lose track of such grief I think she would fear losing track of her love for that child? or something like that?
Gusts of wind! Yes. I like the idea that grief is love with nowhere to go as well. I’m also operating under this notion that death doesn’t end relationships. It alters them. This will take more time to fully appreciate.
comfrey is abundant in our garden and I throw it onto all of my ‘compost heaps’, after someone once mentioned it stimulates and improves decomposition, I love letting the garden feed itself.
Danny is often in my thoughts, despite never having met him, I sort of feel I’m getting to know him through your sharing here Dee…that might be another way of connecting xxx
It’s a vigorous propagator too.
Grief, so much about love. Yes. Real love never goes away. And so grief… yeah. Love lives on. I guess we embrace it. Love is hard.
Comfrey makes me think about my dad. I’ve never grown it for some reason. Better get to that.
Yes and yes.
It’s too bad you don’t live closer, I could give you some comfrey.
💚
Actually there are more reasons why I wish we lived closer.
I can think of many!
(((Dee)))~ The pain you express twines around like a vine in search of someplace to hold on, to land. Your placing the needs of our earth…and the other mother’s loss, leads me to think how much grief there is in the daily living right now – with so, so many losses. To add this loss of your boy, in this way must add an unbearable weight. Sending love and hugs.
Thanks Nancy. The way you can speak back and uphold truth is remarkable. And I so appreciate it.
(((Dee))) treasure each & every memory and hold it gently in your heart to hold onto… it helps
Thank you and yes.