I’ve been having more frequent moments of missing Sheba the last couple of days. It has been acute today. I haven’t gotten around to storing her bowls yet, but I did bag up her Kong bed yesterday. It did make me feel better in moments. Other times it gave me such an acute longing and missing her. Fourteen years is hard to erase and process.
Though both we and Sheba knew that our time together was coming to end it is still very difficult. Towards the last couple of months of her life, Sheba stopped sleeping in the bedroom with us. She retreated to the livingroom or the sunroom. Perhaps she was preparing us. So my tears come. My tears flow this morning as I biked down the alleys we used to walk. I see that the squash grower has planted potatoes this year instead. Memories, images and tears come as I pedal.
I tell myself I have to do something else beside cry. So I practice riding with just one hand on the handlebar, then the other. I’m not good enough yet to use one hand on and to signal with the other. I can manage a quick scratch of my nose. I practice looking behind me for traffic. I want to get enough confidence to ride down busier streets. I still have goals. I’m still interested in improving my skills of living.
I took a little break from my sadness. I worked in the front yard. I put myself in every corner, reclaiming every inch of it. I am not letting the neighbour bully and throw her weight on my property. I wonder what kind of person would plant little trees on a neighbour’s property, right along my raised garden bed. I wonder what kind of person would have the Weedman spray pesticide right along that bed of vegetables. I’m wondering but not expecting any answers. Living next to this person has deepened my sadness in these times.
Now it is almost 8 o’clock in the evening. I love sitting out here and watch the sun playing shadows on the garage wall. In other times, Sheba would be laying here beside my feet. She is ok. I don’t have to worry about her now. I’m ok. We’ve had our time together. I am no longer angry with the neighbour. However, I am a little afraid of her venom and malice. I do not care about the row of little evergreens beside the raised bed. They have nowhere to grow but over her driveway. .
So I sit me down to write with my cuppa strawberry flavoured tea and little blocks of dark, dark chocolate. I’m not sure how correct my tapping will be. I am not feeling totally correct. Don’t hold me to my words. Tomorrow I might disown them. I am not coming from the dark of the night place but ’tis the season’. All this jolly, jolly Christmas stuff sometimes upends me. All the expectations and preparations. All the hopes and dreams. And all the fairy tales.
I was not born into all that. I immigrated into the culture. I adopted the customs though I was never quite at home with them all. In a sense I have never been quite at home in my life. I was always looking out into others’ homes and Christmas trees, envious of all the glitter and laughter. After a long while, I did feel comfortable with it all – Christmases and Easters. I had made them into my own seasons of worship and gratitude. Christmas was my holy time. Easter was my season in the desert.
Now, they are both gone. I feel no reverence or holy. But I do feel a loss. I feel sad for it. I will try to slowly migrate back towards the feelings that once had meaning. It is not easy in these times. There is too much nit picking and political correctness about everything nowadays. The song Baby, It’s Cold Out There is considered inappropriate and banned. Even Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer is thought of as a song about bullying. I will have to shelf everything and think about it later. Tomorrow is another day. I wonder how many are feeling like me.
December 10, 2018 4:48 pm
I’m here with my cuppa and no chocolate. I have not given much thought to anything overnight. I’ve put my brain on a freeze. No analyzing of this or that. It is much better to just sip, stitch, no bitching and be as merry as I can. Life is short. The night is long. The time is for me to pass. I rather use it and my energy in creating something beautiful rather than sour grapes and bitter lemons. It’s the season to be kind to myself and others, focus on my own path and not be distracted by the sidelines. To my own self be true. I will not be like Eve. I will not flee from my Garden of Eden.
My morning self is a more positive side even in this sea of grief that we are presently in. At some point last night, I had to stop watching the vigil honouring the Humboldt Broncos. Otherwise, it would be difficult to extricate myself from overwhelming sadness. As it is the thoughts of the accident and deaths are always there, just beneath the surface.
April can be such a hard month. The sky is grey. It is snowing. Spring is not ready to show itself. On this morning memories of other tragic accidents surface. Young lives were lost in those motor vehicle mishaps from high school days. We were given the information at the time. Someone died. But there was no counselling and talk sessions after. Perhaps it is better now to have all this media coverage. We need to hear all the stories as much as the people need to tell them. So good that there’s emotional and psychological support available to people so quickly. We have come a long ways in dealing with trauma.
I shall meander through this time as best as I can. It is not my sadness but we all share the same space, breathe the same air. We are all bonded in our humanity. Let me not shy away from what is here. It is not my sadness. It is not my story but I can sit and listen. I will shed some tears but I will be okay.