Sinking-Climbing

I'm in a deep funk, and it feels like I am sinking.

It seems as though it was only a couple of months ago that I emerged from my winter hibernation. I thought I was through with all that for awhile, and I expected a longer period of sunny days.

Instead, clouds follow me wherever I go. I try to make out the sun, and from the looks of others, the sun is there for them. Why do I not see it? Why is it that I only feel the sky's dark shadow over me?

I feel like I am doing the right amount of things to help propel myself forward. I'm doing my best to keep the tide going in my favor, yet it is always that undertow that wins out. Is this depression? Is this grief?

I have struggled with depression for many years, and have turned to therapy and medication to assist me with coping. I have also added new elements into my life, such as my love of gardening, or my interest in Buddhism. I have tried prayer, and have struggled to reclaim that inner peace that my soul once had. It seems that life does indeed give you more than you can handle, or perhaps more than your share to carry. I suppose those words are not true, as I would have already given up if that were the case.

I sit here and think about these words, and I know it's all par for the course. This is what I must work through. Am I depressed? Sure, I have plenty to be depressed about. Is everything dark and gloomy? No. I'm in a funk, and it will pass. Sometimes these heavy hearted days pass quickly, and other times last for weeks. I just have to be patient. It's not like there is anybody knocking at my door wondering why I haven't come out to play. And, it's not like I have to measure up to others' perception of where I should be at this point.

This is just where I am right now. Today. The saving grace is that it is quite familiar, and I have come to expect days like these. Sometimes it's just the disappointing realization that I have been pulled back under. It would be nice to think that my grief was like climbing up a ladder, getting closer and closer to the top with each reach of that next rung. Yet we all know the reality, and it certainly is not as easy as that.

We slip, we fall, and then we begin reaching back up.

Reach with me.

Empty Beds and Summer Blooms

When we first moved into this big, wonderful house, we toiled and planted together in our many gardens. We were building something long-lasting, rich, sensual and vibrant. The flowers in our garden were breathtaking. Our plants were exotic. Butterflies were abundant. Every clod of dirt became a colony of life. We loved every lizard, flower, hummingbird, bush, spider or tree. And with each plant’s growth, annual or perennial, we rejoiced. As part of our morning ritual we’d walk, hand in hand, around the whole yard to look at what had bloomed or sprouted or spread the previous day. Those communions with nature were deeply entrenched in the fiber of our relationship. We loved our gardens and we loved sharing our gardens with each other. It was simple, pure joy.

Various cancer treatments ate away at our time in the gardens. It’s hard to dig holes when you are nauseated or tethered to a chemo pump. Eventually, it became a rare event when we’d share those tender garden-tending moments. The last gardening pleasures we had were walking around, still hand in hand, observing the changes that nature had orchestrated in our stead. It was still nice (how could it not be?) but it was sad, too, seeing all that we built succumb to nature’s entropy.

Eventually, the garden, like the inhabitants of this big house, fell into complete shambles.

Three weekends ago, for reasons I can’t explain, I spent all Saturday working on the sprinkler system. It was broken in many places. Multiple blown-out heads sprayed like misplaced fountains. Several broken pipes had to be dug out and repaired. Most sprinkler heads were clogged or misaligned. It took all weekend and multiple trips to Lowes but by Sunday night the sprinkler system was back in good working order. I felt accomplished.

Two weekends ago, I bought some plants. I can’t tell you why. I got in the car and ended up in our favorite Austin plant store, Red Barn. I left with $100 worth of plants which were dropped into the ground in their perfect places in three flower beds. Other plants in those beds that had migrated were repositioned back to their correct places. Other plants were trimmed back and reshaped. Those three flower beds were beginning to look like flower beds again. It was nice to see. It was renewal.

Last weekend, Red Barn took another $100 of mine in return for a wonderful set of plants perfect for one more bed. They aren’t planted yet but I’ve prepared the bed. I’m so excited to see how they look in the ground and how they’ll fill in over time. It’s going to be beautiful. I’m excited.

As I look around, though, it’s hard see the world without the tint of what used to be - the garden that we built together and was overflowing with blooms and beauty and love. A friend of mine commented that the garden was the most beautiful she’d seen. I responded that there’s just no comparison to what it once was. The definition of innocence; she had nothing to compare. I can’t avoid the comparison. What Once Was is stinking up my enjoyment of What Is.

It’s amazing to me how the gardens here at our house have reflected the health, both mental and physical, of the occupants. Looking at the gardens now, it’s apparent that growth is beginning where just months ago were just memories. This is good. I’m excited to see what blooms.

Bromance

Well, I'm dating.

Okay, maybe I'm not really dating. I'm just not quite sure what to call it. It's been awhile since I dated anyone, and, it's been awhile since I have felt the need to qualify exactly what I am doing with another person.

It's kind of odd, going out with someone, talking, and texting several times throughout the week, wondering what he is doing when we are not together. Wondering who he is talking to, texting to, having dinner with, when I don't see him during the week.

Am I being vague enough? I don't exactly know what to call it, this thing we are doing, because, he isn't gay.

What?

You know, I put a profile on Match.com awhile back, and have corresponded with a few guys, but none of them led to any type of date. Then one day I get an email from this guy, who says he read my profile, and liked what I had to say. He was interested in talking about the book I am reading, and thought maybe we would hit if off. He was right, we did. The complicated part, or maybe the uncomplicated part, is that for the most part, he identifies as straight. So what was he doing roaming the pages of gay guys in the area? I'm not completely clear, but I have really enjoyed having a guy to hang out with, to talk to, go walking/hiking with, and potentially to start cycling or running with.

So, what do you call this? Funny, it feels like dating. Well, of course, without the heavy petting that is often expected after a nice evening out. This weekend my son finally met my new friend, and as soon as he had the opportunity to ask, he did. "So Dad, are you guys just friends, or what?" It's a fair question. I'm sure that he remembers that last time that I brought a man home that I had been spending time with. Actually, I ended up marrying that man, didn't I?

Earlier I had a very nice telephone conversation with my brother in law. After we spoke about everyone else in our families, he wanted to know truly how I was doing. He mentioned that he had been keeping up with my Facebook page, and was pleased to hear that I would be starting my new job. He said that it seems that I am doing well, but wanted to know if the appearance matches my reality. You know, I have not been asked that in a very long time. I let him know that life has been considerably better for me these days, and that many good things are happening for me. Yet, and there is always that "yet," I told him that I miss his brother more than ever, and that my life feels far less than happy. I acknowledged that I still cry more than people would expect, and that I am still unpleasantly surprised by my reality every now and then. He told me that it is still that way for him, and that if he is missing Michael that much, he can only imagine how I am feeling each day.

During the writing of this last paragraph I took a very short break, as my new gentleman caller Instant Messaged me. We chatted about how the rest of our weekend went. He gave me props for all the hard work I did on my yard, and he joked about my being a big strong guy. I responded that I was more like a not-so-big very sore guy. I was able to laugh, and to feel good that someone was thinking about me, and taking the time to keep involved in my day to day life.

Two men, reaching out to me, making me feel like I matter. You know, they may not be the types of relationships that will ultimately fulfill me like the one I had with my husband, but they are men that are here, playing a part in keeping me tethered to this life, and this world. And for that, I am feeling quite blessed.

Me and Betsey

I don't do lawns. There are many jobs I have tackled to prove that I am a strong, capable woman, but lawn mowing has never been one of them. Growing up my brothers mowed the lawn, after I married my husband mowed the lawn, and after he died the lawn took on a life of its own. Because who the heck was going to mow it now??

This was a very serious dilemma after Phil died, and whenever I thought about lawn maintenance I was stomping mad at him for dying! This isn't one of those jobs you can just get done once, it is an ongoing problem. First I called a gardener. The estimate for the front only was affordable, but the price for the front and back was more than I could justify. There were no available neighborhood kids, my boys didn't know anymore than I did about how to use the lawn mower, and the person who was supposed to teach them was permanently unavailable. So the lawn grew. And it grew. And it grew until the widow in the office felt she was living in a forest. So I told myself, "This is not rocket science, get out and mow the damn thing."

First I stood over the red lawn mower and tried to figure out how the starter worked...and where the gas went. I walked around it in circles like a hunter evaluating her prey. I don't know why I felt I had to pounce on it, but I imagined it running away from me for some reason. After much to and fro, a few trips to my computer for tips, a grudging call to my brother for another walk through of the instructions, and several false starts I finally got the machine started. Then it promptly died. At this point I am already sweaty, extremely frustrated, and in tears. I cursed at the stupid red mower and sat on the concrete crying. Damn Phil for dying, and yes, I know that is a terrible thing to say. It wasn't the worst of it I can assure you.

After another self pep talk about all the things I could do, and how this can't be that hard, and the fact that if I didn't mow the lawn it may consume the house I stepped up to the lawn mower again, and this time I had a talk with it. I said something along the lines of, "Look, can you give me a break? My husabnd is supposed to be doing this, but he is dead and I have no idea what I am doing." Then I decided my lawn mower is a girl, and I named her Betsey.

Betsey and I tackled the lawn forest. Every time she died, I revived her. As each row of grass was felled by Betsey's blades I grew more confident in my approach of the next row. Some parts of the lawn went down easily, for others I had to put Betsey up on her two back wheels and use her more like a machete. She never failed me, that girl is tough. By the end of the mowing experience I was dripping sweat, covered in grass clippings (who knew there was a catcher?), exhausted from the effort needed to maneuver Betsey through more grass rows than I could count, and as I cut the last row--completely elated. I conquered the lawn forest, and proved to myself that I am even capable of mowing the lawn. Then I sat down beside my new friend and had a beer.