Category: good grief

A bird in the hand

by Karen, posted in chicks, good grief, no fear, raising chickens
The Big Chickens (including Pidge)

One of my roles is Farmer (well, Wife of Farmer, to be more accurate). As such, I have a morning (and evening) routine when the primary farmer is away.

  1. Get coffee. (Get coffee is always Rule Number One, no matter what). 🙂
  2. Feed the Teenager Chickens in the transitional coop; refill their water as needed.
  3. Feed the Big Chickens; they are now on a very efficient self watering system that my husband designed and set up (this totally rocks!).
  4. Gather up any eggs.
  5. Evening: repeat.

I do most chores that are part of chicken rearing without any problem, but have heretofore drawn the line with a couple of things: I don’t check the vents for egg bound chickens and I don’t remove the dead bodies from the general population. Those jobs belong to Farmer #1 (or my son does it by default when my husband is not available). In short, Man’s Work.

Well, last evening as I entered the coop with the feed scoop held aloft, the Big Chickens ran toward me in one giant chicken wave as always…except one. There was Pidge, laying on her side, legs out behind her, lifeless. Poor Pidge (short for Pigeon, so named because of her coloring and size) had not been herself for a week or so, but in the two days prior seemed to be recovering well and we thought she was going to make it. Just that morning she had flown up to meet me when I brought the morning feed out to them. I took a closer look at her.

Dead dead dead.

The cartoon-like caricature of death flashed into my mind, complete with “X”‘s where the eyes should be and I superimposed the image on Pidge. (The eyes really did look blank like that!).

As an RN, I automatically reviewed the procedure for the pronouncement of death and had a moment of black humor as I envisioned checking the apical pulse and blood pressure on the little hen. I reviewed my options: Husband and son both at work and neither would be home for hours. I couldn’t in good conscience leave the corpse in the coop with the general population for that long.

I was going to have to Man Up.

I recalled a female friend who raised chickens telling me that the worst part (of disposing of the dead chickens) for her was handling them. Her work-around method for avoiding this was to put on a pair of work gloves then get a shovel to pick up the dead bird and remove it from the coop.

I got my (husband’s) gloves. I got my shovel. I got up my nerve and I entered the coop. I focused my gaze just to the right of Pidge, picked her up with the shovel, and took her to her final resting place.

The lesson here? Don’t name your chickens.

Footnote: I just named a chicken last week: Coconut. I am ever hopeful I guess.

Coconut

Chaos Theory

by Karen, posted in family, good grief, Midlife Crisis, no fear, relationships

When everything around you is falling apart, it can feel like the world is going to end (or maybe you wish that it would). Maybe you’re doing your level best to keep things harmonious in your life, but then somehow you lose your focus for a split second.

You make a bad decision and suddenly all hell breaks loose.

It can feel like vertigo: your surroundings are spinning and you are unable to feel stable despite exercising your strongest proprioceptive abilities. People are saying things that you’d never thought they’d say. Worse, people are saying things that you never thought they’d say to you.

To quote the brilliant, insightful Talking Heads from their song Once In A Lifetime:

“You may ask yourself, what is that beautiful house?/You may ask yourself, where does that highway lead to?/You may ask yourself, am I right, or am I wrong?/You may say to yourself, my god, what have I done?”

So, to paraphrase the illustrious Heads, how did I get here?  Why did I do/say/think that? It can all be so confusing when you are in the midst of it. Everything can happen so fast that your head literally spins.  What do I do/say/think now? Maybe your body takes over and your breathing changes to rapid gasps. You’re sitting  down but don’t remember doing so. And are you rocking?  Is this really happening?

Then, amidst the chaos you suddenly become aware of the calm. The calm inside you. And in that space you become aware of a thought forming. That still small voice says:

You have no control over how this will all turn out.

You might think this would be a scary thought to have at a time like this, but for some reason, it is not. Instead, you find that it’s a comfort.

Shanti: “The Peace which passeth understanding.”  ~T.S. Eliot from The Waste Land

The ides of March~Grieving my dead relatives part 5

by Karen, posted in family, good grief
John

I always liked the sound of “The Ides of March” from when I’d first come upon the phrase in my reading of Shakespeare.

In 1998, it took on a new meaning: the day that my father died. He was on hospice so his death was no surprise. My mother’s (who had died 2 years and 2 weeks earlier) birthday was March 13. He hadn’t been eating or drinking much for several days before her birthday, but on that day, he perked up. He was laughing and joking, almost his old self. He sat up in his hospital bed (that was in the middle of the living room) and asked for a fried clam dinner with french fries and cole slaw and dinner rolls and God only knows what else.

So, my brother ran out to get his requested meal, which (as you probably guessed by now) turned out to be not only his last supper, but also his last lucid day. We didn’t think it was any coincidence that it was my mother’s birthday that he chose to perk up, or that 2 days later he followed her and died.

I like to have a fried clam dinner on or around March 15th in honor of my dad, like I buy primrose around February 29th in honor of my mother. The only problem now is…where to get it!

 

March 13

by Karen, posted in family, good grief
Family of heart shaped rocks from Ireland

My mother’s birthday is was March 13; she would have been 71 this year. I wasn’t going to write a post about her because I just published one a couple of weeks ago, but here we are. The day started off as many do, with a quick look at Facebook to see if anything was going on.

So, the first thing I saw was something posted by Jeannine entitled: A letter from Mom and Dad (dad died years ago on 3/15). I mean, are you kidding me? So I watched it, and cried. Off to a good start.

Next, another FB post, this time by my sister-in-law, where she describes the boiled dinner she is making today…Andrea mentions that she makes it the way her mother-in-law, my mother, did. Sniffle.

Then we went to my friend Susan’s house. She had recently been to Ireland and brought my daughter and me back some presents. Mine included a “family” of heart-shaped rocks. More tears.

After a bit, I pulled myself together and we chatted for a while, then we gathered around the laptop so that Susan could show us pictures of Ireland that she took during her trip. I reminded my daughter that we were half Irish, so she should be especially interested in viewing these pictures of the country. “I didn’t know you were Irish!” my friend said. Well, it’s no wonder, since I’m usually going on about my Italian heritage. My mother, however, was Irish.  I told Susan, “As a matter of fact, it’s her birthday today.” As we sat and watched Susan’s wonderful pictures of and stories about the places she had been (I nearly started crying again), I suddenly thought, “Okay, Ma, so you’re showing me that you’re here today, making sure that we remember you on your birthday! We do!”

And we did. Surrounded by love. Solid as a (heart-shaped) rock. 🙂

(Gee, maybe turning those clocks ahead really wreaked some havoc with my equilibrium!)

“You are my sunshine” (Grieving my dead relatives, continued)

by Karen, posted in family, good grief, health
Mary

So, it’s that time of year again; when the anniversary of the day a relative died rolls around and you try to remember without being too sad.

This is my mother. At the time this picture was taken, she was a sister, a daughter. At the time this picture was taken, she was not yet a wife, a mother.

She was graduating from high school then, and her life was ahead of her. Too soon, it was over.

My husband took me for a ride a few days after she died with no particular destination in mind. We ended up at a local market with an attached greenhouse. As I walked around the store clutching my Kleenex, I was drawn to some colorful plants that my husband told me were primroses. For a moment, I actually felt happy looking at the little faces of the flowers, so on impulse I purchased one. I took it home and placed it on the little shelf above my kitchen sink.

Every time I looked at it, I remembered my mother’s death with a pang that was then tempered with a little bit of calm. In the spring, my husband planted it in the back yard.

Each year that followed, I brought home another little primrose plant and in the spring we planted it outside. Over time, all of these plants thrived and soon, without specifically intending to do so, I’d created an entire garden of  primroses, which became sort of a tribute to my mother. I was very sad to leave it behind when we moved.

This year when I was browsing at Trader Joe’s I spotted some primroses which (of course) immediately evoked thoughts of my mother, so I bought one. This spring I intend to plant it in my kitchen herb garden to revive my mother’s tribute garden from years past.

I chose yellow for the first plant because when I was growing up, she bought me an outfit that I refused to wear: yellow pants and a yellow shirt. “Who wears that color pants?” I complained. She ended up returning the outfit which I wouldn’t  have been caught dead wearing. Years later though, I recall this incident and wonder, “Why couldn’t I just wear it? Give her what she wanted?”

It’s ironic that yellow is now my favorite color.

Also, “You Are My Sunshine” was a song she loved and sang to us frequently when we were kids.

She died on leap day, February 29. We joked afterward that she chose that day purposely, so we would only have to feel sad about the day she died once every years. She was nice like that. 🙂

Gratitude

by Karen, posted in family, good grief, Holidays, Midlife Crisis
Simple Abundance Journal

I’ve been keeping a gratitude journal this year. A long time ago, I read Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach and decided to give the “keeping the journal all year” thing a shot. 

It was an easy enough premise: write down at least three things that you are grateful for each day. That’s it. It starts off fairly easily, but as the days, weeks, and months go on, it can get more difficult. I did it though, and completed the journal on December 31, 1998.

A few years ago, I found another one of these hardcover Simple Abundance Gratitude Journals at a yard sale for a buck; I bought it.  It had one or two entries in it, but I figured that I’d just wite them out and write over them. I brought it home, put the journal away, then promptly forgot all about it.

Fast forward to December 2010: I found both that journal, and the one I kept in 1998. I decided to start the journal January 1, 2010, and I have kept it up all year. Periodically, if things were especially happy (or alternately, tough) for me in 2010, I would look back to 1998 to see how I was doing on that day twelve years ago. There were lots of ups and downs in 1998: I was expecting my second child, and my father died from cancer that year. It was difficult to read some of the entries. Turns out that the emotions may be different, but feel every bit as strong all these years later as they did back then when it happened.

Today, I was thinking that things hadn’t been going that well for the past few days, and it was looking like 2010 was not going to end on a high note. After I finished my journal entry, I decided to look back to see what I had written on this day last year. One line stood right out: “I am grateful for my life.”

It’s as true today as it was twelve years ago when I wrote it. Thank you, past self, for reminding me of this tonight, when I needed it so much.

Grieving my dead relatives, Thanksgiving edition

by Karen, posted in good grief, Midlife Crisis

While driving home from work last night, I was thinking about something

Mom and Dad, way back when

from my past and wondering if I should share it with my kids. Now that my parents are gone, I realize that there are lots of times when I have a question about their lives and am sad because there’s just no one to ask.

Every so often when I was growing up, they would tell me something about their own growing up years, and more often than not, I would roll my eyes and wonder, “Why are they telling me this? Who cares?”

Well, now, having had the same impulse last night, I get it. They just wanted me to know them better, to know them (even a little bit) as real people, instead of just mom and dad.

I wonder if this lightbulb moment I’m having is a function of being in the midlife crisis stage of life. It’s nice to have the insight, but it makes me wish that I had cared a little more about , and had shown a little more interest in, what they had to say when they were here.

Val Walker at Kennebooks

by Karen, posted in books, education, family, friends, good grief

Val Walker came to Kennebooks to talk about her new book The Art of Comforting. This author’s talk started off feeling like a course in sociology, as

Val Walker

she described different models of counseling (companioning, relational….), but then it quickly became more personal, as she related some examples of comforting from occasions in her own life when she’d needed it.

She explored the question of what it means when someone says they are “there for you”, and what that shape that might take as a comforting act for another. Sometimes, just sitting with someone and letting them “feel their feelings” is all that is required.

Val thinks that to be an effective comforter, one must “let go of the outcome” (this phrase will be familiar to you yogis out there :)).  One will not always know if her comforting efforts have been helpful, and it is not necessary to know. The fact that effort was made is enough.

After the talk, Val offered to take questions from the audience, however it was a rainy night, and many of those present had traveled a fair distance to see her, and they were anxious to head home, so she graciously changed course and immediately proceeded to signing books.

As a side note, Kennebooks always puts put coffee (the coffee is good!) and cookies (the cookies are good too!) for all of their book signings, as well as water and tea. They are always enjoyable and who knows? You may even learn something new!

A child’s “firsts”

by Karen, posted in family, good grief

I had my first child when I was 29 years old. I started back to school and back to work when he was 8 weeks old. As a full-time student and working mother, I missed a lot of my child’s “firsts”.

Certainly, I knew it was going to be a trade-off; get better educated to get better employed and to be able to give said child a better life. I reminded myself of this often; like, when my mother called excitedly to describe my son’s first time saying “Mama”, or when my or mother-in-law called to tell me how my son lost his first tooth…you know, little things like that.

Well, my son turned 19 last month. Of course, we get used to our kids not sharing with us every detail of their lives as the get older like they do (how could they avoid it?) when they are very young.

Recently, my son took his first airplane ride (well, almost his first. He did go up in a small plane with his dad and sister many years ago…but I don’t count that. Plus, there was a parent present). For this plane ride, he was with a friend, and without parent. I guess it was sort of like the first day of kindergarten (or college, for that matter); the child adapts in 5 minutes to new people and new surroundings; the parent? Not so much.

He was good about it. He offered to call every day while away on his trip, and then remembered to actually do it. We parents tried to do our part by being supportive but not stifling. It was hard. It is hard… to go to sleep at night when your whole family is not home, safe in bed. “Hello, Dad? I finally get it.”

How do you deal with your child(ren) growing up?

Signs (from the dead relatives)

by Karen, posted in family, good grief, tweens

Ever wrestle with a decision, wondering what is the right thing to do in any situation? Sometimes when that happens to me, I’ll think, “What would my mother or father do?” or “What would Nana think about this?”.

Well, the other day I was going back on forth about something, then made my decision and spent hours second- guessing myself. After a while, I thought, “I did what my mother would have done”; what she did in fact do many times during my life. I also thought of how generous and giving my grandmother was (both of them, actually, but on this day I was thinking of my dad’s mother) to me whenever I needed it, throughout my life, when I deserved it, and (often) when I didn’t.

Then I tried to stop thinking about it. A moment later, I got an email that included a recipe for my favorite soup that my grandmother used to make for me (escarole soup with little meatballs)…Nana giving her approval?  A bit later on, I opened up the American Profile magazine that came with the Portland Press Herald that day and there (0n page 12) was an article entitled “Pride for Popeye“…here’s where I admit that my father used to call me that as a nickname when I was in kindergarten. Now I’m thinking, “Two signs! This is clearly Dad saying, ‘Good job!'”

And then, that night I dreamed about my mother. She was in my house, visiting. I kept thinking, “I didn’t know my mother was going to be home today!”…

I had to laugh to myself when I woke up. The dead relatives showed up big time to show their support for me yesterday and I’m so happy that they did.