Friday, October 16, 2015

One Step then Another

I remember going rappelling with my dad. He would always say, "The first step is the hardest." Whether you considered yourself adventurous or precautious, that first step was a big one. It was easier to stay on the top of the ledge where it was safe. Where you didn't have to put in any efforts. Where it was comfortable, if not fulfilling.

Isn't all of life like that though. The first step is the hardest. I am not just talking about big life changing events. Sometimes the first step is just getting yourself out of bed to face the day.

I had been warned that at the two month mark grief often hits hard. It is at this point that reality sinks in. That you realize this is life. This is life without the person I love. There is no fix for this.

This is where I find myself. The grief is heavy again. I want to lay in bed all day and binge watch Netflix. My patience is thin, and I feel easily defeated. Taking that first step to face the day is a struggle, and even once taken my pace is lethargic.

People say I need to give myself time. I know they are right. I know the waves of grief will become less frequent, less devastating. I also know that I must push through them when they come. There is no relief in laying in bed, watching TV, or scrolling Facebook. When I can make myself take that first step, and then the second, third, fourth, there is some comfort.

I don't feel like working in the garden. I don't feel like making dinner. I don't feel like taking a walk on a gorgeous fall day. I don't feel like caring for animals. Nevertheless, when I push myself to take that first step and the steps that follow I am always glad that I did. Keeping my hands busy clears my mind and spirit in a way that I can never do when trying to sit in the quiet or numbing my brain with some sort of entertainment.

Tasks that require my brain and emotions are different though. Dealing with a difficult child, talking to a lawyer, completing paperwork for colleges or to settle accounts are things that I don't want to do, and I find no comfort in. They drain me. I find myself completely exhausted after these activities. Still, they must be done, one step after another.

Most days, I don't want to take that first step. Sometimes, I don't want to take the second or third step either. I have to though. There are tasks that must be completed and will simply become an even more overwhelming pile if I don't chip away at them. There are tasks that bring some enjoyment. I need to overcome my inertia, and participate even if it is one slow step after another.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Great Aunt Hazel 10/31/1916- 9/24/2015

1917 Grandpa (Walter) & Aunt Hazel
On Sunday we had a memorial service for my Great Aunt Hazel (Franks) Fisher. It is amazing to me to think of the history and changes that Aunt Hazel saw in her lifetime. She told stories of her childhood, of the family's first car, of how WWII rationing really didn't affect them because they lived on a farm, of the changes that she saw. 

Her father died when she and my grandfather were young. Her mom never remarried. The three of them ran the farm. I remember her telling me that farming was more of my grandpa's love. Aunt Hazel really didn't care for it that much. 

1953 Aunt Hazel, Grandpa (Walter,) Great Grandma Bessie,
Grandma (Erma,) Uncle Vern, Mom (Linda,) Aunt Nancy
A family member helped Aunt Hazel pay for secretarial school and she was off to the big city of Cleveland for her education. She married Uncle George and they settled in Akron. They never had any children, but they kept close to her family in Fredericksburg. 

1978? My brothers and I with Aunt Hazel on the farm she grew up on.
I remember Aunt Hazel and Uncle George visiting regularly, often out for a country drive. They always brought gifts. They would pick up snack foods and toiletries on sale and bring them along for the family. They were preppers of their generation. I remember their basement with shelves along every wall full of canned goods, shampoo, and other non perishables. 

As I got older, Aunt Hazel would bring me costume jewelry, and later she would slip me cash, especially if I had a trip on the calendar. Even later, when she knew Tim and I were paying on student loans and money was tight, she would help us often. We never asked, she would just slip a wad of cash in my hand. 

Aunt Hazel, the farm girl who told me she hadn't left Wayne County until she was almost an adult, went on to travel the world. She travelled to every continent, except Antarctica, and she got as close to that as she could, travelling to the tip of South America. She was always off on a trip. Her husband didn't enjoy world travelling. He stayed home, and she went with tour groups. The things she saw. 

After her husband died, she met Terry. Terry became her companion and caretaker. They moved a camper to West Virginia. At first it was their weekend place, but eventually they spent most of their time here. Aunt Hazel remained witty and sharp up until the last couple of years, and physically she was in remarkable shape for her age. 

2008 at her home in Akron with Terry
Goodbye Aunt Hazel. You and your spunk and wit will be missed. Your stories and memories will remain.

Friday, October 09, 2015

Beyond the Fog

We left our hotel room shortly after dawn headed toward Virginia and the funeral of my brother-in-law. The air was crisp. The fog was heavy.

The drive  was stressful. I didn't know the roads. I could barely see the road in front of me. I was not looking forward to arriving at our destination. Yet, we pressed on.

At times the fog hovered 10 feet or so above the ground. We could see the road a little more clearly, along with peeks of the surrounding landscape. Sporadically, the fog would lift completely, and we would see what had been there all along. The mountains were on every side. Trees, in the beginning of their autumn glory, brushed with color. Cows grazed contentedly on lush valley pastures. Quaint little towns were nestled between babbling rivers and mountain slopes. And occasionally, the warm sun would break through the cloud cover and bask the land in light.

Beyond the fog there was peace. There was beauty. There was life.

In those early morning hours, the breaks in fog were brief. We had only a moment to appreciate what we had seen, and then we were once again enveloped in the fog.

This morning reminded me of life the last five years. Well, maybe life in general, but especially the last five years. I am so often unable to look beyond the tasks that are in front of me. My focus is on the road, and it isn't pretty. It isn't enjoyable, but it must be done. The beauty, the peace, the life is all around me, and I am stuck in the fog.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of what is beyond the fog. It is splendid, but momentary. I want to see more of the beauty, the peace, life around me. I want the fog to lift, and the light to shine.