The grief concept I am both most drawn to and repelled by is the notion that at some magical moment I will discover I have developed some new, loving relationship with Chuck - or some variation on that theme. Okay - that was a little snarky. I haven’t posted in a while trying to wrestle this concept & my feelings into something fit for publication and that is the best I’ve come up with so far. The draw of course is splattered all over this blog, my Instagram, Facebook & Twitter feeds which sometimes even embarrass me with their rawness: I miss Chuck so much I will latch on to any concept that promises a brighter and even new & different day (‘with’ him) ahead. What repels me from this concept is - F-that. I HAD the relationship I wanted. It is hard to fathom that there is some different version of our relationship that I will come upon that will bring me …. what? Comfort? Peace? Happiness?
My problem with the concept is probably about the same as my reaction to Spring/Summer which has finally arrived on the farm. I was as sick of winter as every cranky New Englander. I mean it was sleeting on the farm 10 days ago. How often have I told Floridians (too many) that no one enjoys a June day as much as those who have walked to their barn and had their eyelashes freeze (true story)? But, I am as offended by this Spring/Summer as I am by the concept of this new emotional relationship with Chuck awaiting me on some horizon. Yet, I live on a farm that Chuck worked doggedly to keep up until a few days before his death. And as his three-decade cheerleader, sometime-helper, always-sounding-board I am very aware that if I decide to ignore Spring the whole place will go to shit in no time. (Direct Quote)
Granted, if you follow me on Instagram you know I am creating our farm my own way. Laying hens, flowers, and very likely a strong consumer component and hopefully, eventually, an educational piece. More to come soon. So, on remote workdays, I squeeze in lunchtime chores and early evening work. And like my love/hate with the concept of this ‘new relationship’ and the change of the seasons, I’ve had a very schizophrenic reaction to my increased farm work schedule. Many of the things I am doing, of course, are things Chuck took care of 99% of the time or that I was only doing ‘temporarily’ while he was sick.
You cannot spend nearly 30 years with a “Chuck” and then begin to take over his routine and not be acutely aware of which things I am doing exactly as he would have or at least in a way he would approve of — and vice versa. His family and the three girls will solidly back me up here. Chuck had a pattern for how he mowed the lawn. (It was gorgeous) He had strong opinions on how short - or rather not too short - to make the grass to avoid browning. If you were at the funeral or ever drove up our driveway in the last 3 years you know perfecting the drainage pitch and crown in the center was close to an obsession. And the recurring pothole at the bottom of the driveway where it meets the street his biggest nemesis - think Bill Murray in Caddyshack & the Woodchuck.
So for sure as I washed the 4-wheeler, did a little mowing, and prepared the beds to plant - I knew how he would do it. I knew as well how surprised he would be when I took extra time to ‘do it right.’ But - did I feel some new awesome connection to him? Nope. Most of the time I had a brutal stomachache and I don’t think it had anything to do with recovering from COVID. It also made me really sad - or at least it brought me to the edge of feeling sad. Other events that were challenging this past week then tipped me over. I was definitely less resilient this week and my feelings were rawer. I guess this could be because I was sick. It could be that the twins are turning 21. But it feels like it’s because I am walking in his farm shadow and it is the most familiar place I know in the world but the way I feel when I am there is not. And it is definitely not an emotional place I want to stay. And that is my current and ongoing struggle. I love the comfort of farmwork & home while simultaneously hating that it doesn’t bring the same emotions it did for nearly 30 years. I know, hate is a strong word. I hate it.
I guess everything goes back to a passage that spoke to me during the Ignatian retreat I did - before Chuck’s rejection. Hope - that, 25 acres, 8 chicks, 2 dogs, and three incredible daughters is what I’ve got.
Solo Farming
It’s soo hard, my Jack died 2.11.22 and nothing is the same w/o him,
n o t h I n g. I get it, the farm won’t be either, he’s not here. 😢💔