Scott's Sweet Corn

How do we keep memories alive? How do we remember and share them? Fact is we do not forget the days past. The lucky ones have a treasure trove of good memories to draw from. 

I will own that I struggle with releasing the harsh realities of losing someone to suicide. Mental health issues are painful to witness and debilitating for those who suffer from them and their survivors. I hope there is a shift someday and the good memories come first. It's a process. I'm not there yet.

I will also own, and I suspect I'm not alone, that I wish I could just say - I lost my spouse to _______ fill in the blank. I don't wish anyone cancer or an accident, or illness. But I stumble over the stigma of suicide every time. People understand how grueling a cancer journey is. They can envision an accident, or other illness. They cannot fathom death by choice, and it frightens them to think about it. I get it. It is a daily process to make any sense of it at all.

While I'm envious of those to talk freely of those they lost, I also find joy in it. I love how it draws them out, and gives them purpose by simply sharing their passions, their loves, their life.

Case in point. Scott's Sweet Corn. They began harvesting sweet corn at Master's Hand in Tekamah, NE this week. All the signs on the property shout with joy that Scott's Sweet Corn is ready. Made me think of the Burma Shave signs, or the multitude of signs to Wall Drug. Scott loved his sweet corn. Susie loved her Scott. In a way he is with us delighting in the corn. Isn't that cause for celebration? I think so.

Those Other Lives

Do you ever think back to those other lives you've had. I do.

I remember how naive I was when I got married at 22. I was young, in love, optimistic. Did I mention naive? I was so sure we would go the distance. For 18 years we did. Boy, though, I was unprepared. Willing to learn and grow, but unprepared. Much like when the kiddos arrived. Optimistic, but unprepared. And, oh, how I love them. They are the best part of those 18 years, and I am forever grateful.

I am taken back to another life by simply donning a shirt that has a tiny speck of paint on it. I know exactly where I was at, who I was painting with, and why we were painting together. It was a hard time in life, a rebuilding season. A fresh coat of paint put on with a friend makes a difference though. 

I remember pulling up roots and beginning a journey while struggling with depression and grief. It was a bold move. Another naive and crazy move. Definitely a hard move. I floundered for months. Yet here I am.

I remember being a new widow. How impossible it seemed. Every day it slapped me in the face one way or another. So many rude awakenings. I met with a group of other widows for dinner monthly which should have been comforting. But somehow the dynamics weren't. Right concept, wrong situation. Not my people. It's entirely okay to understand that some people are just not your people. 

In other lives I worked way harder than I should have, for far less than I deserved. Now, shall we say, I am a seasoned widow. A different person than I was in those other lives. I won't say I am an old widow, or an old wife or mother. Just seasoned. Seasoned by the journey and lessons in the other lives I've lived.

Sparkles

When I graduated from high school, a hundred years ago, my parents gave me a diamond necklace. It has a small stone from my mom, one from an aunt, and one from my grandmother. My parents wished they could have given me a car. Admittedly, that would have been amazing. Unlikely, but amazing. 

When I bought my first car, it was a used Plymouth Duster. The same day, my sister-in-law bought a used Trans Am. Very sporty, very. Kind of took the luster off my Duster. Granted my Duster ran a lot longer than her car. So, there's that. Many times, smart choices win out. But not so smart decisions provide wisdom and experience. We take our decisions wherever we go and what we make of them is up to us.

When my first marriage ended, I took my ring in, traded stones and had a right-hand ring made. In case you haven't guessed, I like bling and other shiny things. I used those stones in my ring when I married a second time. Perhaps odd? All depends on your viewpoint. I'm again wearing them in a right-hand ring. It's like wearable history in bling format. 

I don't know what you wear, drive or carry from your past. I know often there are shrouds of pain and regret. I know life can weigh heavy. I know we sometimes forget to see what sparkles in our life. I feel like I can see what's what now more than I could before. I like that I still have jewelry from my parents, bling that honors my life, and memories of a first car that wasn't fast or particularly sporty. But it was smart choice. And when it was clean and in the sun, it did kind of sparkle. 

anniversaries

Thirteen years ago today Gordon and I got married. You don't forget dates like this. Talk about for better or worse. I rarely talk about his life, and his death even less. But, this blog is for those who want to say their names and have a hard time doing so. Maybe it's a loss like mine to suicide. Maybe it's a nasty divorce. Maybe a bad, bad breakup. You want to forget it, but you can't. It's not humanly possible.

There is some shame, if you will, in the aftermath of suicide. It's a horrific event to be a part of. No less for the one who suffers enough to complete it. However, for them the pain has ended, for the survivors it doesn't end. It's hard to talk about it, so most times we don't. Memories and anniversaries of the heart get swept under the rug.  Pretend it never happened. Because, honestly, no one wants to talk about the colossal failure of what was once a loving relationship. Even I don't.

But, and there is always a but, sometimes we must talk about it. Sometimes it helps to say their name. We need to know it's okay to say their name. The shame isn't completely rational, rather it is tempered by stigma. The stigma is a wicked beast.

Thirteen years ago was a good day. Surrounded by friends and family, all our favorite people. We celebrated, we ate well, really well, we danced! It was a "for better" day. For which I am grateful. 

It's sad that the bad days, the traumatic endings take precedence over the good days. Those memories are hard to expunge. I don't expect people to say happy anniversary or remember the date. But sometimes a simple, that was a good day. I remember it well. Remember when we did this? Even a look how far you've come is comfort enough.

We do not have to live in silence. But we do have to choose to speak up. For all those who struggle with this, me included, I say own it. Honor it. Speak it. Share it. 

Old Things

I have a thing, for old things. Perhaps the older you get, the more you embrace old things. Who knows for sure on that. I like old things like my grandmother's engagement ring. My great grandmother's china. Old dogs. Old friends. Old terracotta pots, old hanging baskets. 

Here's the thing about things you've had for a while. Some you can easily part with, some you hold on to, indefinitely. Until a season in life that you get them out to enjoy them again. That's the important part. Enjoy them. 

When my kids were little, I'd get out the good china and make them a snack plate. It was much like a charcuterie board. Minus the board, the salami roses, specialty mustards, olives and fancy cheeses. It was a little bit of this and that from the fridge. They loved using a fancy plate. I hope when they have kids, they will do the same. 

I have a hanging basket that hasn't been used in 11 years. It's travelled to three towns with me, took up space in 4 homes. Last year it made it out of the garage and as far as the patio. I'd hold it up and look at it from time-to-time. Pondered where I might put it and set it aside for the time being. Sometimes we hold off and wait on things, sometimes we take action. 

It has a vintage looking bracket, and a lovely shape. Couldn't even tell you where I got it from. I'm thinking from a place I worked at in the late '90's. It has always spoken beauty to me, so I saved it. Today I got out the drill, mounted it on the fence and planted flowers in it. I planted joy in my heart just by using it again.

Maybe take a look at your old things and use them. If you know you'll never use them pass them on. If you already use them, feel the joy. Maybe it's an old ring, or old china. Whatever your favorite old thing might be. Share the story of them with someone. Share the joy. Make things a little fancy. We could all use a little fancy in our lives. 

More Than Enough

I'm guessing that each of us has childhood worries that follow us wherever we go. Some of us have processed them. Some of us are a work in progress. Some have stuffed them deeply and aren't consciously aware of them. Yet they impact who we are and how we live life.

For me I wonder if I'll always feel alone and will I have enough. Even though I feel alone, I'm not, never have been. But how does one define enough? What is enough sleep, enough money, enough plants, enough dogs? I'm a pro at going without to make sure I have enough. How ironic.

The gardener in me gets a little edgy this time of year about not having enough plants even though all my pots are full, and my garden is planted. I had a tomato plant take a turn for the worse this week. Now I worry what if all my tomato plants do that. How can I go through a summer without home grown tomatoes? Valid concern, right? Not at all anal or based on irrational fears. Nonetheless, I bought a 4 pack of tomato plants today to meet that need. Plus, to help the local nursery as it is close to end of season. I had to help them have enough sales, you know? I don't need 4 more tomato plants. I only planted two of them. The two leftovers must be Catholic for the amount guilt they are giving me. 

The beauty of life is that all my needs are met by the big guy upstairs. The times I didn't think I could pay the bills, I did. The times I thought I didn't have the strength to move forward I did. The times of emotional pain found healing. The year I moved 3 times, took a new job that was awful, depression made me a complete mess, the pandemic hit, and I had dogs cross the bridge, I survived. I grieved deeply, but I survived. Because I had enough even if I couldn't see it.

As I release this worry, I see how much I have if I let go a little. Or on my brave days, let go a lot. I have enough, more than enough. I may feel alone, but I'm not. I've got enough, and some to spare. If you need an extra tomato plant, let me know. If you need some faith to get you though, I'll share. If I end up with more tomatoes than I can ever eat, so be it. In the end, enough is a blessing I didn't see coming but will happily count. 

Feed My People

So far today I've fed two dogs, the hummingbirds, orioles, bees and some people who are complete strangers to me. I've fed my soul and more importantly I made a deposit in the karma bank.

As for the strangers I didn't personally feed them, I provided sandwich fixings for volunteers who continue to help with tornado clean up. Other volunteers will make the sammiches and deliver them on Saturday. It's a group effort. You see, just because the tornadoes were several weeks ago, doesn't mean they are over for those impacted by them. The need for prayers, sustenance, supplies, manual labor continues and will for days. We can still help.

Years ago, people fed us. With prayers, with home cooked meals, financially, and emotionally as Gordon recovered from his stroke and then months later ended his life. These were people we knew and loved, people we didn't know and never met. Friends, family, strangers all moved to meet needs during loss and tragedy. Back then I vowed to pay it forward. In tangible ways, like meat, cheese and hoagie buns, and intangible ways. 

Feed my people is a call to action. It's a call to step out of the comfort of a life smoothly moving along, into the messy life of someone else. If you've never had a messy life, count your blessings. If you have, I'm preaching to the choir. We need to be prayed for, propped up, encouraged. Sometimes we feed the people, sometimes we are the people fed. Either way, the need is there. Find a way to help. You'll sleep better at night, trust me on this.