In the Weeds

We have moved along through the year now. I’ve moved along as well. For six months, I cried every day for missing my dad. And then I just stopped. When my brother died unexpectedly at the age of 36 (19 years ago), I cried for a year, unstoppable. I still cry over him. But now, six months after my dad’s death I’m feeling more normal, though I often well up, especially thinking of our long, quiet times together in the end, his eyes looking up at me with the strangest, faraway look, glazed over and watery, clear and light. He’d raise his eyebrows like he was asking me a question. Anyway, that’s what can still get me springing the tears. But I’m getting used to it, just like everyone said I would.

Speaking of spring, it’s here. Our house is officially on the Azalea Trail. Here is what you see now at the edge of our lawn, that part closest to the admiring public.

In this beautiful neighborhood of trees, plants, flowers, and tidy lawns, we put our weeds right out there. We have a beautiful house, which makes this worse. But when am I going to do yard work? No one else in my family is inclined. So the weeds come. Hello little red clover.  
                                 
This time last year I had no idea what was about to happen. My dear friend from high school, a man I love very much, killed himself. Just days from this time last year, our youngest granddaughter was sick with RSV and had a very scary febrile seizure while they were staying with us, and we had multiple trips to the doctors and the ER. Soon after, my dad had the first fall and hip break, and we were told just a month later that he was dying and would not live out the year. My husband had to have his own immediate surgery after a trip to the ER. And my dear friend who is like a grandfather to me was spending time in and out of the hospital and rehab. My mother, thank you dear universe, was healing after her own year of a frightening bout of lung cancer, a fall which broke her shoulder, and acute pancreatitis. I think of myself this time last year, poised and unknowing about the strangling future months ahead. And then boom, I was in it. Up to my head and over. Swimming in fear and stress and emergencies. When you are in it, you cannot see over it. There is no horizon. But I knew time would move us on, forward, and here we are, a year from a year ago.

If you look closely in the picture above, you can see the house behind the weeds. The house is messy too. Just this morning we found a dying field mouse in the kitchen, sending my husband into a small emotional trauma because he’s become extremely sensitive about animals, and I had to act brave but I didn’t like it one bit either. So yes, the house is messy. This table is cluttered, and I never clean. We have a house guest coming next week and I’m not ready. 

Here is another picture. 

We have the most beautiful trillium all over our front yard, and it just keeps coming back year after year without any coaxing. I say it’s because we don’t do yard work, that must be why. This time last year I dug up a bunch of trillium for my friend Kent, and took it to him. That was the last time I saw him. He is the one who killed himself just a week later. 

The trillium is back, the grand baby is fine. My dad and my friend Kent died, and we just went to war with Syria. I can hear the birds today, and soon I’ll hear the croaking frogs. Yes, spring is here, everything is coming alive and taking over the crunchy winter landscape.