I did not love the new Elvis movie. However, Elvis music is everywhere this summer and that is a good thing - I was too young for the Elvis-mania but many of his best hits form the soundtrack of my childhood & young adulthood. Lately, I haven’t been able to get “Suspicious Minds” out of my head. Now, my siblings will tell you I am famous for mangling the words in popular songs - and not letting that prevent me from singing along off-key!
I don’t think I am changing Elvis’ words but I am confident how they are speaking to me shares no relevance to their original meaning! “We’re caught in a trap, and I can’t walk out because I love you too much …” Ironic that my feelings about the ongoing clutches of grief are analogous to the spell of an unhealthy relationship. I think I make this association because one of the weirdest mind games of deep grief is the sometimes pervasive, sometimes fleeting sense of lacking a connection to reality.
Many of you have flattered me with compliments on my writing. However, I struggle to even understand - never mind define - this state of being. I suspect Joan Didion captures it in her book, The Year of Magical Thinking. Yet, even though I have the book and suspect there is insight within its pages I have assiduously avoided picking it up to read. I could not tell you why. Maybe I am afraid that if I find understanding of this weird mind space then it will disappear. As Elvis says, it might be a trap, but ….
The girls and I have both noticed that there is an odd and often painful correlation between the farm with this disconnection to reality we feel. Away from the farm, our mind tricks us into thinking that Chuck is simply back home. It is not a deeply held secret that as Governor and then with my subsequent work, I traveled often (pre-COVID). Chuck was the anchor at home. I joke that Chuck ceded winning marital arguments when he married a politician. But, he had one great comeback that sealed his and Elizabeth’s permanent retreat to the Berkshires & eventually the farm shortly after my tenure began as Lieutenant Governor. It is debatable whether the press or the schedule was more brutal to us as a young, not wealthy, not powerful family finding our way with my first time holding statewide office. Finally, Chuck said, “Why do I have to live somewhere that I hate to never see you?” Boom. Mic drop. Pack the minivan and head west.
Recently as I continue to try to purge, clean, and organize I found some of my personal diaries from these years. Let’s just say being away from the girls and Chuck so much was pretty brutal for me. I questioned my decisions a lot. But looking at those decisions now it is 100% clear it was the right thing for the girls and Chuck. And probably the powerful and wonderful life built on this farm and my knowledge that while I was away they were FINE and HAPPY at home are what fuels my brain into fooling me (and them) into thinking that must be the reality still.
This brain trick - sometimes it lasts a moment, sometimes longer, when each of us is ‘off the hill’ as Chuck would say - is accentuated by its companion back here on the farm. Of course, I spend the most time here and come and go the most. Chuck’s presence here is powerful. It makes it both awesome and awful to spend time here, to be honest. There are just a lot of moments where as much as my rational brain knows Chuck is gone and can tell you exactly how many days and months he has been dead, I have a very hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that he isn’t going to just show up to help …. find the thing to pinch the mini’s nose to calm him down, or remind me to lift the gosh darn mow deck with the lack of rain to cut the lawn longer. Like - not that I know that is what he would tell me … but it seems unimaginable that he is not here telling me. But when you are here at the farm, his absence is painfully clear. He has not appeared to complete a chore even if I have felt his love and support.
I have not taken the advice of many to get some grief counseling or join a group (even though I’ve encouraged the girls to do so … I have pot & kettle issues). I hope I am dealing with my grief productively. I know all these weird mind-tricks are normal grief stages (Joan Didion wrote a pretty famous book that I haven’t had the courage to read on what I suspect is this topic … I perfected the intuiting the meaning of books I didn’t read in college). It is still disconcerting.
So, what does that have to do with my most recent farm antic: making potpourri? There is something really therapeutic about the gathering of materials - most of them basically weeds (aromatic and beautiful weeds that people should definitely pay me for, of course). But if I am being honest, there is also something a little escapist in the activity, too. I am convinced Chuck would be hugely amused by this escapade - especially when (not if) I sell my potpourri mixture of aromatic oils, flowers …. and let’s call it naturally occurring vegetation. :) However, it is not something he ever did or would ever do. So it is a mini-step toward establishing a life on this beautiful farm that isn’t constantly being lived in anticipation of his presence. Also, I faced a hard truth this week as I made the decision to move forward with a national education advocacy role that I have been discussing with colleagues for months. I am a bit afraid to reenter, full force, the part of my life that had less Chuck in it. The reasons are complicated and I am just starting to figure out what they are, to be honest. Figuring out that the sentiment I couldn’t quite put my finger on was fear was a big leap forward.
If you have read along or know me “IRL” you know I was blessed with undertaking an Ignatian Retreat (or Adventure) that started before Chuck became ill and lasted throughout his illness. It was and continues to be a blessing of unimaginable magnitude. I would scribble down specific poems or passages that spoke to me. One that I have re-read often is a Prayer by Thomas Merton. This is the final line: “I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.” Overcoming fear (not to mention being alone) is so critical at many times in our life - I am surprised it took Elvis & potpourri for me to realize it is a big part of this stage in my grief journey, too.
I collect books on grief. Do not read them either. I think it’s because I fear they will make the unbearable more of a reality—I am a widow. And I still want him back. “Acceptance,” I am not there yet.
Keep writing, Jane - you make me think about things in an entirely different way! Also, the term my kids coined for not knowing the lyrics? Lyrignorance...... try it, it works well......