Category: Musings

Into my third month of grieving the death of my husband, Russell, I find the ebb and flow of the grieving process to continue to be tumultuous at best.  I have days that I am rocking and rolling – getting things done, moving through my day with a fairly clear head, able to have conversations and remember them at the end of the day.  On these days I breathe deeply; I smile more than I sigh with sadness; I reach out to friends and family; I feel hope infusing my being.  But these days still remain fairly fleeting and it is a challenge to figure out to stay in these moments for more than one day at at time.

One rocking and rolling day is often followed by 1-3 days of a muddied, foggy mind and body.  This week  my entire body decided it just needed to shut down.  A migraine started early Wednesday morning and only completely released its’ grip a few hours ago.  I have no doubt that the fact that I’ve been alone in my house since Tuesday evening played much into my mind and body taking control and saying “No more.  You will let go of the tight grip of control you’ve been maintaining and just feel it all – the pain, the sadness, the loss, the deep and ever prevalent missing of Russell.  This is your chance, in the quiet solitude of being alone for the first time since his death, to remember, to just experience your grief as mourning wife.  It is time to let it go a little bit more.”  A wave I had to practice riding so I wouldn’t be towed under.

I’ve listened to that.  I’ve opened myself up to feel it a little bit deeper, a little more rawly.  I’ve cried a lot.  I’ve intentionally watched sad movies to help release the flood gates.  I’ve read from parts of my half dozen grief books gifted to me by folks.  I’ve looked at pictures and read over some of the cards I’ve received in the last few months.  I’ve talked to Russell about what I miss, about what our kids are doing right now, about how proud I am of them, about things we dreamed of doing that I still hope to pursue, about how absolutely cuckoo this whole thing still remains to me.  I’ve walked barefoot in our yard smiling at how green it all is, knowing Russell would be very pleased with our land.

I’ve also tried to slowly start responding to folks who have been reaching out to me to spend time with me.  It is a slow attempt on my part, as so much of my actions are these days.  There are many who I wish to see and yet planning anything these days seems so very, very hard.  I long to be with folks as it helps me not feel so lost and rudderless.  But I also deeply crave to be alone, because in the solitude is where I allow myself to go deep within and speak to Russell, who I am greatly missing more and more everyday.

As time moves along and I think I am getting stronger, things happen and I realize I really am not.  I am just getting better at coping.  But my lethargy, or more accurately an almost complete inability to follow completely through on anything, remains strong.  My good moments are really good.  My bad moments are really bad.  Imagining a newer future is possible, but acting towards that future is a giant mountain I still need to climb.

Speaking on the phone is the hardest thing for me to.  Dialing seems to take so much effort.  So there are calls I need to return both for business and for pleasure.  But I just can’t quite do it most days.  I feel a great sense of accomplishment with every little call I make.

So please, everyone, keep asking!  Keep asking how I am doing even if I can’t adequately answer you and I stare at you like a deer in the headlights or I mutter words that make no sense.  Keep asking me if I need anything though I seriously can’t answer that aloud as the only answer in my head is “give him back to us.”  Please keep asking if I want to go to lunch, or dinner and just sit somewhere quietly for coffee or a glass of wine.  I may say no a lot (especially as I get super busy with summer camps starting next week) but know that I want to say yes to all of those requests.  Keep asking even if I don’t respond for days or weeks.  I see the requests; I write down on my to do list to return the calls or emails and that’s about how far I can get right now.  Please keep asking!

I only want to be with people – sharing stories from the past and the present and dream for the future.  I find committing to work is hard but simply being at my farm is fairly easy to do if I can get out of the house.  Sunny days are easier.  Rainy days leave me wanting to curl up under the covers, order things from Amazon (I am finding you can get just about anything delivered to your door), sip tea and read my books.

But I want to feel strong and competent and able to get through an entire week accomplishing all I hope to do with relative ease.  The only way I will get to this place of strength is baby stepping one step at a time, feeling it all and just going through all of the emotions that well up within me.  I don’t know when it will come, that magical day of being able to walk in strength without feeling drained to my core at the end of it.  But I do know it will come.

Until that day comes please keep asking me whatever it is you feel called to ask. The threads of hope that you all create in continuing to ask are what keep me afloat.  So please KEEP ASKING!  Love and hugs and peace to us all!

My email intended as a simple update to my farm community came out more as a musing this morning.  So I decided to share it here.  Enjoy! 🙂

“I am Here.”  This is the answer I most often give when anyone asks me “How are you doing?”  Stating I am here is the best, most accurate, most real answer I can give in this time and in this moment.  It is also the easiest answer to give as it is the clearest thing that I can think to say.  I am here means I am present right here, in this time, in this moment.

Other answers such as “I’m okay”; or “Awful”; or “sad” or “feeling good”; or “Meh” (a common response right now) or really anything else just can’t quite encompass what I experience most of the time right now.  It is rare that any one response can sum up all of the swirling, foggy, complex, simple, multifaceted things I experience each and every moment of my days.  I most often feel as if I am in an ocean with lots of waves. Sometimes they are gentle waves I can simply float on and breathe deeply while staring up at a blue sky.  Other times the waves are forceful with fierce undertows that I can barely stay above water as I try to ride them out.  Simple answers no longer seem adequate as I travel in this ocean.

I also find that the language I have understood all of my life no longer seems adequate or even really makes sense.  To say I am okay most often leaves me flustered and laughing.  Because being okay now is nothing like what it meant to be okay before Russell took ill and died.  I find that word has so little meaning or perhaps too much meaning that I can’t really use it very often anymore.  Even the moments when I feel “okay” – not spinning, emotionally calm, breathing deep – I am so very aware of the kraken at the bottom of the ocean that I float upon waiting to wrap tentacles of grief, anger, depression and utter frustration around me.  So I will sometime just say “I am okay, but not okay, but okay.” Clear as mud huh? 🙂

When people ask me “How are you?” I appreciate their concern and honest willingness to really know how I am.  This question, though, can often leave my brain locking up completely or scrambling around in at attempt to figure out how I am before answering.  There is an almost manic energy that overtakes me when folks ask this.  Or a deep frustration as I can’t answer the question.  Being foggy brained and unclear in how to move forward in some things remains a fairly dominant experience for me.

The kids and I continue to be gentle and patient with ourselves, encouraging each other to stay in the present moment and be very honest about what we need in each time, in each moment.  We are healing.  We still have moments and sometimes whole days that we simply can’t face more of the world than each other.  We hide away in our house or we spend the day with just each other.  But even these hide away moments are shorter and fewer between.  And they don’t seem to grab a hold of us causing an inability to talk like they used to.  We do all have many, many times that we simply hit a wall and have to leave a space.

Staying in the moment is by far the safest and smartest thing for all of us to do in this time and in this moment.  All we can really handle is the here and now.  Looking too far into the future causes way too much anxiety and none of us is 100% sure what we want to be doing months from now.  Looking into the past, especially since our journey in Cuckoo Luckoo Land began is way too crazy making. We still glimpse both forwards and backwards, but most often strive to stay in the here and now.

We are having more moments of finding simple joys in life.  There is excitement around Kateri’s and Soren’s upcoming trip (they leave Thursday) to meet my parents in Italy for 17 days. While there is significant anxiety around aspects of this trip for all of us we strive to name those anxieties, take a deep breath (or 20) and move onto the next step of the journey. Demetri and I are planning some special meals out and fun activities for just us while they are gone.  Demetri and Soren have discovered a game (DC deck building) that they find great pleasure in playing together.  Kateri and I are loving doing NIA with Carrie Magill. I find myself during these times at NIA dancing my way back to myself in many ways and pouring all of my emotions – grief, confusion, anger, hope, love and more – into my dance.  Soren most enjoys dong tumbling and gymnastics with Xander at the Vlastos’ barn. He also talks anyone and everyone into playing with him at whatever park is close by. Kateri and her horse, Walter, are closer than ever and there are new things she hopes to do with him this summer.  Our puppy, Rue, is 100% the best decision we’ve made in the past 2 month. She is an absolute delight.  I am finding great moments of peace in sitting under the magic tree at Avalon with whoever wants to sit with me.  I also feel healing coming up from the earth itself as I weed and plant and dig in Avalon’s memorial garden that I have now claimed as my own, slowly making it into my butterfly dragon garden.  Threads of light and love and hope in the midst of the darkness twine into our web of healing.

I had so much more I had thought to say but the words seem to have floated away out of my brain.  So for now I will just say I continue to feel love and gratitude for all who hold us up.

I AM HERE!

“Opportunities and Choices… Every day, every person makes a hundred small choices.  Most of them are not so clear-cut as choosing between Light and Dark.  There is so much room in the gray spaces of the world.  But when weighed at the end of the day, that heart leans a little more toward the Light or the Dark – and then resonates a little closer with the Light or the Dark. Make enough choices, one way or the other, and the day comes you have grown beyond who you were and it’s time to take the next step in your life’s journey.” – Glorianna from the book “Belladonna” by Anne Bishop

For the past several weeks I have re-reading the Ephemera series by Anne Bishop, one of my favorite authors.  Anne creates worlds of mystery, magic, light and dark, love, power, the earth, fascinating worlds that draw me in and leave me pondering my own.  Anne has a magical way of weaving a story that entertains and inspires all at the same time.  For me, her writings are very mystical and influence my own approaches to life.

There is much that leaves me thinking “Hmmm” as I read this particular series again. My journal is filled with passages and notes about what I am reading.  I find myself throughout my day thinking of things a little differently and adding just a little more intention to all that I do.  I have no doubt that more of my musings will be prompted by what I am reading right now.

My life and my kids’ lives are filled right now with opportunities and choices.  Every single day we are faced with opportunities to either stay where we are, thinking of the past; standing in the deep confusion of all that has happened; hiding away from the world that seems a little darker and less unsafe; living in anger, fear and sadness; OR taking baby steps forward into a new, unknown life, imagining new possibilities and adventures; opening our arms and hearts to those who would love and support us; saying yes to being with folks even if we are quieter than normal; going outside and doing things; living in hope, trust and simple joys for each other and the little pleasures in life.

Each day we are making choices about the paths we will walk that day.  Some days we choose the darker paths. On the darker days we give ourselves permission to “tap out” of others’ expectations of what we should be doing.  We listen to our own deep needs for quiet attention to our sadness. Those are usually the days that the threads of grieving wrap around us with memories that only bring tears to our eyes.  Those days we cocoon inside our house with one another watching silly shows, playing games, snuggling with puppies and each other, being very quiet, sit in one place for as long as possible, eat a lot of comfort foods (not all very healthy), take naps, write in our journals, and stay in our pajamas and keep the curtains closed.

Other days we choose lighter paths.  On these brighter days the sun can pour in and through us lightening our hearts and our minds enough that our bodies awaken and feel ready to move.  Lighter days mean “tapping into” the wellspring of love that surrounds us from all of you and the world as a whole.  The light often means tapping into something more than just ourselves and so we can feel less alone in the world. The lighter days find us outside more, able to get dishes and laundry done, excitedly talking about new things to do, dancing, working out, breathing deeply, riding, gardening, eating more healthy, drumming, walking, working, being with other people, and basically just move a whole lot more.

Most of the time, we have moments of both throughout our days.  I find that most often right now I am standing in the center holding two threads of light and dark, sadness and joy, wonder and confusion, anger and acceptance, hope and despair together.  Within the light I can see the threads of darkness and within the dark I can the threads of light.  It is standing in this center that keeps me sane and helps me continue to step forward on whatever path I choose in each moment.  Standing in the center is the place where I can breathe and think and that is less foggy than any other place.  Opportunities and choices for both the light and the dark can be seen from the center.  In the center I can see the ways the dark and the light weave together into a necessary, cohesive whole.  If I stand in the center I can see the glimmers of hope in even my darkest of times.

It is slowly feeling easier to make more choices to step onto a light path.  For weeks the darkness was so comforting, so safe, so all consuming that the very thought of getting out of my robe each morning was too much. Leaving the house to do anything even fun, joy infused things was almost impossible.  Somehow things got done but the exhaustion after even minimal movement was kind of mind boggling.  But now, in this time and in this moment, it’s easier to fathom getting ready and doing things.  Each of us have added in new things for ourselves this past week – healthier food choices, reading a new book, NIA, yoga, having more than one extra event scheduled in a day and working more days/hours are just a few of the choices we have made.  The kids even handled me going out with friends on Saturday night until after 10 pm. Opportunities and choices.

I honor (and help my kids honor)  the gifts – the opportunities and choices – I am being presented with every single day.  I am striving to acknowledge and respect all that I am feeling on this journey of mine.  I allow myself to feel and think whatever comes pouring over and into me.  I listen to the truths that these feelings are pointing the way to for me.  I know that even the darkest of feelings and thoughts resonating through me must be honored and acknowledged.  The darkness helps me reflect and regroup and go deeper into myself. And in some times and in some moments the darkness wants to swallow me whole. In these moments I cry, I scream, I stomp around, I close my ears to hearing anything from anyone. And then I stop, I listen, I say yes to the right to feel it all, I ground myself deep into the earth, and I take a deep breath, imagining  the wind flow through me as I let it all go.  Opportunities and choices.

As I have stated many times before, I am verbalizing for the kids and I that the 6 month period we are in (and will last until mid September) is one of honoring both the dark and the light threads as we experience them.  This is not a time for us to make decisions about what we will do next.  It is profoundly a time to feel and think and be as authentic to what we are experiencing in every moment of every day.  It is a time to allow our inner selves to speak what is most needed in any given moment and to say yes to our inner selves first.  If things don’t feel right and just feel off kilter I am saying no without expecting myself to explain my actions to anyone.  I know what is right for myself and I know what is right to help my kids move forward as authentic to their own true selves.  We are opening ourselves to all the opportunities before us and making choices based on feeling, not on logic.  When it feels true and right and resonates with our inner voice we say yes.  When it feels off kilter and somehow wrong and is in dissonance with our inner voice we say yes.  We give ourselves permission to say yes to things that make us happy and feel lighter and we give ourselves permission to say no the things that leave us feeling sad and trapped.  We are making choices for what we need and not what others need or expect from us.  There is a great opportunity for freedom within this and when we can stay true to ourselves that freedom is a lovely, lovely thing to feel.

Opportunities and choices – what will you see today?

“Blessed Beltane to everyone. A time of fertility and new beginnings. A time for letting go of the past so you can be open to new beginnings.”

One of my friends shared this today and it seems perfect for me at this time, in this moment.  I feel much of this moving within me.  And I feel myself slowly coming out of the ashes, the cocoon, the egg I have been resting in for the last 7 weeks.  Things are shifting and growing and moving inside of me – new growth, new beginnings, shedding the old, turning compost into fertile soil.  Blessings in it all.

I am quieter these days.  Quieter in speaking. Quieter in writing. Quieter in my being. Just quieter.  Partly it still takes too much effort to speak or write.  Things rattle around through my head I want to say or write.  But they get jumbled in my throat when I try to share.  And the thought of unjumbling them first is too much.

I find myself not trusting that how I speak or write will come out calm and wise and mostly kind.  Dragon is quite near the surface for me these days.  The Kraken has moved deep and seems to be resting quietly, not feeling it necessary to drag the world down into the dark abyss.  But Dragon hovers close by, waiting to blast fire out at anyone and anything that might feel threatening.  And what feels threatening isn’t always big things these days.  I even hesitate to teach my riding stuents right now, as this edginess within me can bubble up quickly and sharply, just like a flames shooting from a Dragon’s mouth.  Fast, furious, all encompassing and harmful.

So I try to stay quiet – breathing in and breathing out slowly and steadily.  It’s easier to be around other people when I stay in the quiet places within.  Sitting with people quietly, allowing conversations to flow around me – this I can do.  And I find peace for myself and for others in doing this.

The quiet is a good, good thing at this time, in this moment. In the quiet I can…

Sleep

Read

Write

Dream without fear

Feel the love of the world flowing around us

Hear others’ hearts

Listen to others’ stories

Walk in the gifts of spring

Rest and renew

Imagine a future of opportunities and choices

Strengthen my heart and my soul

Renew my body

Gently clear away the fog and cobwebs around my mind

Twine back together the threads of my shattered mind

Think of Russell with smiles, not just tears

Cry

Dream

Breathe deeply

Our house, and especially my room, have become a sanctuary space of quiet for me (and I think for our kids).  We are clearing away the clutter bit by bit.  We are adding new, fun, creative touches that brighten our space. We are letting go of unused things to make way for the new, or simply to create space, glorious space.

We are filling the house with all of our dreams, our hopes, our letting go, our remembering, our sadness, our joy, our silliness – and holding it all in the quiet sunshine that pours inside.  The kids and I can speak to each other as we need to or want to.  And the great blessing is we are all comfortable and even crave the gift of simply being in the quiet together.  With each other we can rest and simply be – without question and without explanations.  Quietly, fiercely, joyously loving each other.

“One of the best things about being a parent – when your kids are happy you are happy.”  Modern Family

The kids and I love watching the show Modern Family.  It has long been a favorite of ours.  Nowadays it is a lovely escape to watch past seasons and laugh at all the hysterical antics of the characters.  And it is an example of how wisdom can come from all places if we just open ourselves up to listening more closely.

The kids and I are standing united in our attempts to find joy in new experiences.  We take opportunities to do the things we find interesting and grab our attention.  Anything to fill us with energy, lightness and smiles.  I find myself saying yes to a whole lot of possibilities just to see them smile and laugh.  I am changing plans, being spontaneous, looking for festivals, and trying to be silly.

We have an obvious thread of sadness that weaves through all that we do.  Sometimes we can’t speak to others gathered around us very well.  We can’t even talk to each other very well.  There just aren’t words and so we simply flow through our day seeking simple pleasures.  We are trying to remain open to finding a little bit of happiness and joy, and we find it very quietly.

We hug each other a lot.  We text when we are apart.  We talk about what we can.  We play and laugh and plan and dream.

The last couple of days I had the wonderful opportunity to take a quick trip to Lexington with Kateri.  We left Friday afternoon and returned last night, spending just a day at Rolex (3 day horse event) in Kentucky Horse Park.  The cold rain kind of dampened our desire to watch much of the cross country riding standing outside.  But we were in sync in our decision to watch it on the big screen from inside the large trade fair building.   No we weren’t up close to any of the jumps, but we were dry and we had a great time.  We shopped. We watched the riding.We stayed dry (neither of us like getting wet and cold very much). We saw lots of Avalon friends also at Rolex. We laughed at Ru’s antics and smiled at every person who just had to pet her in all her cuteness.  We shopped a lot.  We enjoyed simply being with each other in a horsey world that we both love.   I loved spending time with my daughter who I want to see have all of her dreams – horse focused and other – come true.

Today I get to spend the day with all my kids at the Earth Day Festival in Forest Park.  Each of us is going into the day with much anticipation and a little bit of trepidation.  We have done this festival as an entire family for many years.  It was one of the special days that Russell would take off work for each year so that we could go and be inspired to become more green and earth conscious.  We love the food, the music, the booths, the inspiration and the energy of the entire gathering.  Demetri was born on Earth Day, so we have a strong, personal connection to this day.  Each of us find many, many things that excite us every time we go to this festival.

We will miss Russell today and no doubt will have many moments of wishing he was there to show him something.  But I also know we will have an amazing time and love all the wonderful things we will see, hear and eat today (we love the eclectic food!).  We are taking Ru and I think I am going to pick up Willow to take as well.  The sun is shining which always makes it so much better.

I am excited to spend the day with the 3 people who I love more than anything in this world.  Let the fun begin!

“Who am I?” is a question I ask myself several times every single day.  My entire life I have leaned towards being very introspective. These days it is a near obsession at times to be trying to figure out who I am.  Because the person I was before Russell died is no longer the person I am today.  The things I believed to be true for myself a few weeks ago don’t all ring true anymore.  There is a thread of truth still but it’s all shifted so much that I am not quite sure who I am. And that is quite disconcerting at times, well actually most of the time!

Here are some of the things that I am experiencing as not quite me anymore.

*Time awareness – being aware of the passage of time, both mechanical and natural/seasonal time, has always come as easily to me as breathing.  I’ve actually worked hard over the past few years to become less aware of time as it can sometimes get in the way of me simply enjoying the natural flow of an event.  I can easily lean towards becoming so aware of a start time (to the minute) that I don’t allow things to happen with ease as they will.  I have lived a life being almost always aware of what time it is.

The last several weeks have left me with a much foggier, shaky sense of time passage.  Everything feels like it just happened and also that it happened ages ago.  I find myself unable to guess at what time or even what day it is.  things sneak up on me because I just can’t track time very well anymore.

The funny thing is that this is how Russell often explained how he experienced his own time awareness.  I have a much better understanding of how challenging this might have been for him.  Especially in contrast to him living with someone who leaned towards time obsession.  Most odd to be viewing the world through a lens that he often wore.

*Observational skills – One of the reasons that things run so smoothly at Avalon most of the time is that I have  highly developed observational skills.  I can notice almost everything all of the time.  I can drive into the farm after being gone for a few days and immediately see everything – things, people, animals, etc –  that are out of place or different.  While this can be a both a blessing and a curse, it always means that I am aware of changes very early on in the process.  This is extremely helpful, often life saving, when paying attention to subtle changes in the horses that might be early detectors of injury or illness. It’s also helpful in being able to quickly determine what changes need to be made to make things run more smoothly for the entire farm.

This heightened awareness of all within my universe is is getting kind of lost in the fogginess of my reality right now.  I find myself missing a whole lot, even things going on right in front of me.  This leaves me feeling very uneasy and more than a little incompetent.  I fear missing something that is vital for either a human or an animal in my life.  I long to get back to working more at the farm but am so scared that I won’t see something that must be done to keep all safe and healthy.  I am thankful for the ongoing commitment and work of Avalon’s Co-op team and all who are stepping into fill the void I have left.  I am trusting their eyes and their instincts to keep us all in a sheltered space as I struggle to make my way back to myself.  As much as I try to figure out a way to return to work on a consistent basis, I fear taking the reins back of running the farm on my own again.  I do not trust my eyes to see all I need to nor my brain to be able to connect pieces that must be connected to run the farm smoothly and safely.  Everyday I speak my gratitude for the Avalon community and I speak my hope that I will be able to see it all clearly again someday.

*Finding hope and joy in all situations – I am still doing this in most situations and times.  However, I have lots of moments right now that all I can or want to feel is anger, confusion, utter lethargy, sadness and despair.  I don’t move forward with hope or glimpses of joy simply because I don’t want to.  In many time, in many moments I don’t want to feel better than I do in that time, in that moment.  I want to wallow in the ickiness because it is real and the most authentic thread within me right now.

Though even as I write this and believe that staying in the rawness of my reality right now, I am realizing that it isn’t about not finding hope and joy.  It is about staying in the Now, no matter what the Now is at this time, in this moment.  The very fact that I am doing anything right now besides crying and screaming and hiding from the world is the thread of hope and simple joy.  So it is probably more accurate to say that I am experiencing a lot more darkness and stiffling thoughts than is part of the me I have always known.  I am sitting in the Now feelings no matter what they are or how long they last without feeling a need to always be speaking of something positive and light.  Hmmm, sitting with all of this a little bit more.  🙂

*Taking action towards wellness – Over the last couple of years I have been making more choices to focus upon my personal wellness – emotional, mental, physical.  I’ve become fairly good at making choices each day that help me feel better and get a little healthier.  I know the things that are good for me and help me feel better about myself – gardening, riding, cooking healthy meals, walking with my dogs or kids, dancing.  These days it is much more challenging to do the things that will raise my energy.  It’s the floopiness of this time that the very things that will get me moving take too much energy to even get started.

*Staying calm through the little things – In this time, in this moment it is the little things that can set me spinning faster than blinking.  It’s very odd to have something that I may have barely noticed occurring a few weeks ago now cause me to spin almost out of control.  I chalk this all up to underlying unsettledness I experience much of the time.  I try to just take a deep breath and move through the spin out.

*Understanding what others think and having others understand me – For those who know me well, it will come as no surprise to hear me say that understanding (and communicating this understanding) is one of my highest needs.  I long to learn all I can about a situation, about people, about the world around so that I can understand all the ins and outs as much as is humanly possible.  I long for others to understand why I do what I do.  This leads me to communicate A LOT.  I often believe that if I just explain myself well enough and I understand others well enough I can avoid a bunch of conflict.  PFFTT – so not true.  Nothing can be controlled that much (yes this one is tied to a need to be in control as well – smile).

Every December I set my intentions for the upcoming year. Not really resolutions, but more areas in which I am going to focus some energy to see what change I can bring about in myself.  Interestingly one of the areas I set forth last December was around this notion of understanding.  I wrote in my journal about my desire to remain radically open to walking my life without the need for clear understanding of everything and everyone.  I wrote about my desire to let go and trust that, even if I didn’t understand something, all would be well.

The early work I did this year around remain open and letting go of my need to understand and control is serving me well right now.  I cannot understand so much of what is happening right now, nor how it’s possible that it even started when Russell entered the hospital.  That whole first day of testing is still such a confusing – how the hell did we get here? – blur.  And I am trying to live into having this be okay.

I am also trying to live into the fact that I do not need others to understand why I do what I do for myself or for my children.  It is really no one else’s business but mine.   Just as how others choose to live their lives is not my business.  Each of us is walking a path no one but ourselves can see.  To believe that we can truly understand another’s journey is a great fallacy.  We can walk with others and reach out to them as we see them struggling or we see them wanting to celebrate, but we cannot every truly understand another’s personal journey.  There is too much that remains hidden no matter how much we try to share with each other.  Not always easy to live in this belief.  But when I do, oh is life sooooo much easier.

*Having a clear language –  I am, quite obviously, a verbal person.  I use words to express, to create, to communicate.  What I find one of the weirdest parts of this journey right now is the fact that language I have understood to mean one thing most of my life no longer makes sense.  The words/phrases “Okay” and “I’m fine” are the strangest to say.  Even when I am having a fairly settled day, saying either of these things is just weird.  Even when I am “okay” I am not really okay.  That underlying thread of being off balance all the time makes many of words make little sense.

*Thinking of others and being faithful to my responsibilities – I am a huge caretaker – sometimes in how I physically care for others; always in how I energetically create space and care for others.  I naturally, without thinking do things all the time to care for the creatures and humans around me. Even if I am not physically providing something, I often find myself breathing more deeply and slowly when I know others are in distress.  I have learned how to hold sacred space around me and do this as naturally as breathing most of the time.

I am still doing this but am also finding myself consciously saying “No, can’t do this right now. I must take care of only me and my kids.”  As much as I then long to be at the farm working, teaching, being, I find that it can’t always happen right now.  I have to say no and cancel things at the farm and in my broader life because I want to being a radical YES to myself and my kids when opportunities arise for us to be together.  I love the work I do at Avalon.  I love being with my family and friends.  I love being active in springtime – hiking, riding, gardening.  I love teaching.  I love dreaming of new opportunities to provide for healing and learning.

Most importantly right now, I am trying to say YES to doing things with my kids that we most want to do, even if that means saying no to other responsibilities that I have.  I am trying to say YES when people ask me our for coffee or lunch or a walk, even if that means not getting through all my tasks for the day.  Opportunities for travel, connecting with others. playing or simply being are my highest priorities right now.

Who am I?

I am lost and I am radically found.

I am wife and I am widow.

I am Kraken and I am Dragon.

I am alone and I am being held up by the world.

I am lethargic and I am jazzed with dreaming energy.

I am the burnt up old phoenix and I am the newborn phoenix growing in the ashes.

In this time, in this moment I am me and not me and the me I will be.  Some days this is okay to experience and other days I just want to scream at the frustration of not knowing how to sort my way through. Everyday, in every time and in every moment I keep taking at least one step forward.

Standing in the center, holding the space of my grieving, is a very , very challenging space for me to be right now.   The dark thread of grieving is strong and oh so present each day. This center place is in between so many contrasting experiences and feelings that most days I just feel muddled and confused.  I stand in between:

*Acceptance and Denial

*Sadness and Hope

*Confusion and Clarity

*Activity and Lethargy

*Clutching and Letting Go

*Light and Darkness

*Silent, closed throat and Non stop Vocalization

*Needing people desperately and Needing complete aloneness

*Crying and Laughing

*Anger and Acceptance

As I am standing in this In Between Place most of the time I feel so edgy, scattered and unsure of myself I find I can barely see straight much less take any kind of action.   I feel the inner Kraken awake and waiting right below the surface, waiting for the opportunity to simply drag someone down into the darkness with me.  Even as I continue to practice all my meditative, releasing skills my ability to slide quickly into feeling intense anger and wanting to lash out at anyone around me is very heightened.  I want to release the Kraken and almost look for opportunities to scream for a little while, at least inside my head. Simple questions and requests from folks stir up such intense internal reactions within me that I am finding myself steering clear of being around anyone besides my kids.  Only with them do I feel it is safe for me to be around people.  With them I walk with gentleness and deep love. Any others walk an unknown path with me that might lead to them being sucked into the dark places of my mind.

I am aware that this edginess is all a part of the grieving.  I actually think it is a strong thread that weaves through all the steps of grieving.  The funny thing about these 7 steps – 1) shock and denial; 2) pain and guilt; 3) anger and bargaining; 4) depression, reflection and loneliness; 5) slight upward turn; 6) reconstruction and working through; 7) acceptance, hope and looking forward – is that they are not just steps to be moved through 1 at a time.  I don’t get to just finish one and be done with it moving onto the next.  Every single day I move through this entire process to some extent.  And every single day I think, hmmm I am doing a little better. Whew.  But then some odd thing will sideswipe me like an underwater submarine strike and I find myself flipped upside down and treading water again, feeling so utterly lost.

While I know that the only way through my grieving process is by going through it, I do fear that I may never get all the way through it.  In my head I get that it can take a lot of time.  But this edginess combined with an almost mind numbing rawness leaves me fearing that I may never be able to function anywhere near the level at which I previously could.  I have such positive thoughts each morning thinking about my goals for the day.  I feel confident and hopeful that maybe this is the day I can make it through my list.  Maybe this is the day I can work more than an hour without feeling like I then need a 3 hour nap.  Maybe this will be the day I feel more peaceful than edgy.  And maybe someday these things can happen, but probably not yet today.

Grief “drops us directly into the deepest waters of sadness.  It demands that we stop completely and ask ‘what must be mourned?’  In grief, we are completely immersed in the river of the soul.”   So very, very true!  This immersion into a river of questioning and searching our souls is complete while we grieve.  The waters are deep that I travel and only rarely do I feel like I am at a point of resting and stillness – in a boat, on a rock in the middle of the river, clinging to a branch floating down the river.  Answering the question “what must be mourned” is not an easy task.  The quick answer of “I mourn the death of Russell” is really too simple.  True but nowhere near speaking enough to the myriad of answers that pop into my head as I ponder this question.  Because the loss of Russell has led to so many things that I mourn now and will mourn in the future.  I must mourn the daily missing of Russell. I mourn the loss of security my children had in having both parents with them everyday. I mourn the future possibilities of family trips and experiences. I mourn the dream of growing old with Russell.  I mourn the loss of being able to work for long hours and feel energized by my work. I mourn being able to have thoughts that just light and hopeful without a thread of sadness throughout it all.  I mourn the dreams Russell and I had for our future.  All of these things and many more I can’t even imagine right now I mourn.

But because I am who I am I also see the threads of hope and rejuvenation that can/will someday come as I move through my grieving.  There are new family trips and experiences being discussed.  There are new dreams for my future and the kids future being explored.  There are new ways that I am weaving security around our family.  There are new stories I will tell. There are new and renewed connections I am making with people.  There are many, many new choices set before me leading to opportunities I may never have imagined before.

Sadness is obviously linked to loss, but “rejuvenation is also a radical part of the letting go process. Sadness removes the logjams inside of us so that we can flow and live again.”  Sadness and deep grieving leads us to take a new look at ourselves and our lives.  We re-evaluate our lives as things are turned upside down and inside out.  We make choices based on what is most important to us.  We see the world anew even through the fogginess of grief.  We cannot choose to go back to the status quo as everything is different now.  As we move through our grief, allowing ourselves all the time we need no matter what others think our time frame should be, we let go of more than our sadness.  If we are faithful to our authentic journey, we also let go of the things that have been blocking us from truly living.  We free things up to let the inner river of our soul flow wildly and passionately.

For now I try to be patient with myself as I daily float through pain, anger, reflection and loneliness.  I am thankful for the slight upward turns I experience each day providing me some hope and more positive energy flow.  I am thankful that I have surrounded myself with folks who affirm that my path right now must be just going through it all.  I am thankful for the glimpses into the mystery that I am tapping into something bigger at work than just my own story.  I am thankful for all the feelings I have – the sadness, the fear, the anger, the confusion, the hopefulness, the simple joy – as these experience of these feelings means I am living in the real, in the now. I am thankful for my kids smiles, hugs, tears, connection to me, and our ability to laugh together as a family.  I am thankful for my belief that life is a process and we just need to stay true to our own journey.

And I am hopeful that maybe today can be a day I get through most of the things on my daily list. It would be nice to have at least one of those.  Smile!

One month ago today I made the hardest decision of my life.  With the loving support of my family and friends, I somehow found the strength to speak words stating it was time to let Russell go and begin to accept that his journey on this earth was at an end.  Never could I have imagined before that time, that moment that I would have been able to speak all I had to speak that day.  And yet somehow I did.

There are many things I’ve had to do and say since that day a month I could have never imagined.   I continue to walk my path forward with a body and spirit that doesn’t quite know the way.  I am becoming stronger and more open than I could have imagine just a few short weeks ago.  And I am also more lost and unsure some days than I thought were possible.  Standing in the middle of light and darkness, understanding and confusion, dreams and reality, sadness and joy continues to be the truth of my every day.    It all just remains so very unreal feeling most of the time.

The entire experience of Russell’s quick illness, his death and the weeks since are by far the most profound of my life.  While I move into finding what a new “normal” is for myself and our kids, I am still most struck by the awesomeness of the outpouring of love and support for our family.  When Russell so quickly and shockingly got sick and died, we all tapped into something very raw, vulnerable, loving and real.  The shock of such a quick loss pushed many of us into dropping the multiple ways we hide our real selves from the world.  We took chances to open up.  We dropped our tasks and spent all our time sharing stories with and being with one another.  Being together became the highest priority over getting our lists done.  We all allowed ourselves to be our most authentic, open selves.

As “real life” has once again taken over and we all get back to daily tasks of living our lives, it’s become easier to step away from living from a place of radical openness to one another.  It’s not that we don’t want to remain deeply connected to one another on a daily basis.  It’s simply easier to focus on our tasks instead of focusing on our emotional connections.  Focusing on tasks is much less messy most of the time.  It’s concrete, it’s tangible, we can clearly see what we have “done” each day.  Focusing on emotional connections to each other and ourselves is more messy and definitely not as clear what one may have accomplished in a day.  But I still find myself trying to stay focused on the messiness of living in the moment and choosing people over tasks at this time, in this moment.

The daily tasks of working, keeping the house cleaned, planning for the future are necessary ones for me right now.  But I move through them with little enjoyment or or sense of realness.  It is getting a little easier each day to make a list and actually accomplish many of my tasks.  But the power I used to give to my to-do list is gone.  I no longer give my list so much power that I am not living my life with passion and realness.  I find that I am giving much greater power to dreaming and imagining a life for myself and my kids that is one of opportunities for becoming the most authentic selves we can be.

Finishing tasks, tracking my thoughts, getting to work – all of these just can’t happen every day.  But imagining – that I can do even in my darkest of moments.  Even in the moments that I feel as if I can’t breathe deeply nor figure out how to walk this world without Russell, there is a little part of myself that can imagine a day in which I am not struck 100s of times at the unrealness of my life right now.  I can imagine a day, far into the future, that I walk with a light heart and a light step on a path that isn’t covered with rocks and holes and slick spots threatening to drop me to my knees.  I can imagine a day, in some other time and some other moment, that isn’t so deeply confusing as many of the days are right now.  I can imagine a day that the kids and I wake up with energy and ready to leave our house with joy, looking forward to all the day can bring.  I can imagine a time in which working for more than 5 hours doesn’t wear me out the point that I need to rest for double that time.  I imagine myself continuing to live vulnerably, open to saying yes to people and opportunities, dreaming as much as I plan, letting go of fears to trust that all will be well no matter what is happening in my life, saying yes to LOVE.

I hold onto these imaginings.  I hold onto the imaginings the kids and are doing of places we want to visit this year and people we want to see.  I hold onto all I can imagine that is hopeful and joyful and full of light.  These dreams get me through the dark times that rise up inside of me, blindsiding me in odd moments everyday.  I hold onto the fact that as hard as it still feels, today is easier than the day Russell died a month ago.  At that time, I couldn’t have imagined that it would ever be easier to function, to do things, to simply breathe.  But it is.  So I know that a month from now, it will be even a little more easy.

One day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time we are moving forward.  We – my kids and I –  embrace as fully as we can the moments that are filled with joy and celebrating. And we honor the moments that are filled with sadness and grieving.  All of these moments are part of our authentic journey.  We will continue to be as honest in walking our individual journeys as we possibly can, for as long as we need to.  While others have walked their own journeys of grieving and loss, our journeys are our own.  And only we can walk our own journeys, being honest and true to what we each need individually. In our own time, in our own way we will walk forward into a future we can only imagine right now.

Things are not really getting any easier.  At least not overall they are not.  The kids and I all have a periods of time, usually the span of several hours, that are fairly smooth.  During those periods we can get tasks done, or talk with people, or simply function in a close to clear headed way.  But then the fog comes crashing back down and we are left more stunned than ever.

It is the menial, everyday, simple tasks that seem to get us.  Washing dishes and doing laundry are ginormous tasks now, not just simple things that just need to get done.  Truly mountains of dishes and clothes build up before we take the piles down a few notches.  It would be so much smarter to do them all along. But functioning “smarter” just isn’t possible right now. And the inability to perform things that were once just part of a daily routine is so very frustrating and exhausting right now.

As I write this though I am realizing that the menial tasks become monumental because the monumental feelings are more a part of our daily “routine” than anything else right now.  The monumental feelings of loss are not fading away.  In fact, that all is deepening and broadening and weaving its threads into everything.  Which, in turn, makes everything feel monumental and daunting.

This past week we celebrated Kateri’s 18th birthday.  She had several groupings of folks – friends, family, barn community – that reached out to her and did something special with her.  All of these celebratings were good times for her.  And in those times, in those moments, she and the rest of us were “okay”.  But it was in the moments of not being surrounded by folks that the crashes came in for all of us.  The recognizing in the moment, then processing afterwards, that Russell wasn’t there was devastating.  Just mind and body crushing.

The menial tasks of a daily routine became almost impossible as the feelings of loss and confusion washed over us all.  Which then makes being around anyone but each other very hard.  Curling up together is about all we want to do when the grief washes over.  It’s just too hard to be around others.  We want to be around others for the positive energy, the distraction, the connection. But being around others and not being able to talk or function is hard, just so very hard.

Watching Kateri walk through her birthday celebrating with moments of joy and all of it with grace; witnessing Soren have his prom night blow up into a million pieces last night because it’s all just too much; knowing that tomorrow I start Demetri’s rounds of celebrating his 13th birthday which is next week; all of these are leaving me exhausted beyond words.  I want to do all I can to create and support great opportunities for them in these weeks and months that we need to celebrate the monumental.  My frustration is coming in the fact that I can handle the bigger, more monumental tasks of creating parties to celebrate my kids and help handle all of our crashes.  But I don’t seem to be able to handle things that used to be non-thinking, easy tasks.  I worry that I may never be able to function with all cylinders again.  And I worry that I am running out of words for myself and my children and that I just can’t figure out how to be a functioning human being.

Day after day, we are reminded of all of the ways in which we are missing Russell in our lives. We can’t just call to ask a question, or share stories with him at the end of the day, or celebrate new accomplishments, or ask a question that only he would know the answer to.  All the little ways and times of connecting with him throughout the day are shining as glaring reminders that he isn’t here.  And that just keeps getting harder to bear.

While I know that, in time, it will slowly become easier again in this time, in this moment we are finding things just as hard to do, if not more so, than they were when he first died.  And that fact is leaving us all very, very frustrated.  We want to be able to say yes to work and play.  We want to be able to follow through on things we’ve said we can do.  We want to leave gatherings with people feeling energized.   The fact that we simply can’t do many of those things is hard to deal with.

So we keep baby stepping forward in our journeys and hold onto one another for dear life.  We talk to each other because talking with others is too mind numbing to handle most days.  We do what we can and tap out when we simply can’t handle it anymore.  And we hope for a day when the daily tasks of life are easy again.