Taken By Surprise
I’m just in from a bout of much-needed gardening, preparing a bed for tomatoes and peppers. Yes, Don, I know they should have been planted two weeks ago, but Good Friday was so early this year. (Is there an emoticon for whining?)
After I pulled beaucoup weeds and even dug up a couple of small trees, I walked around to the garage to get the wheelbarrow. Our long-suffering neighbors have to live with our indifferent approach to yard work all year round. Bad enough they have to look at weeds in the beds; I wasn’t going to force them to look at piles of leafy debris unless those piles were sitting at the curb waiting for trash pickup.
Our wheelbarrow is full of pebbles that we use to fill the holes that seem to appear with some frequency in our yard. Between the depredations of two golden retrievers, the chipmunks, and the rotted stumps of trees that were mowed down to build this subdivision and have finally disintegrated — not to mention the network of mine shafts that runs all through this area — we need lots of pebbles. I moved ours aside and grasped the handles of my brother’s wheelbarrow, one he’d left here during his ongoing efforts to landscape our front yard in his spare time. There were a few things sitting in it, a cat carrier, a soccer ball, and when I moved them I found his work gloves and a couple of his tools.
Grief slips up behind me and taps me on the shoulder when I least expect it. I sobbed throughout my cleanup. I’m sobbing now.
My brother was a horticulturist, by training and experience, and he was the go-to person in the family when it came to questions about plants. Even my father, also a horticulturist (although he got his schooling growing up on a small farm in south Alabama) would go to Ken with questions. I catch myself frequently looking at a flower or tree and wondering, “What’s that?”, storing up my query to ask him later. But there is no later.
I’ve heard all I need to hear about how he’s in a better place. If there is a better place, he’s there. But I don’t want him there; I want him here. I want him to be spending time with Tony and walking the dogs and answering my questions.
Dammit, it hurts. I don’t think it will ever stop.
April 6th, 2008 at 6:06 pm
That’s weird because I was just telling Gatlin about Ken and his gardening today and how he looked in his giant straw hat. I miss him, Kathy. Part of me wants to stop hurting, but the other part wants to hold on to that pain because it means he’s still there in my thoughts. Sometimes, I hope it never stops hurting.
April 6th, 2008 at 6:54 pm
Nobody should ever tell a grieving person that the loved one who died is in a better place or that God “took” the loved one because God needed him or her. That’s not kindness or understanding.
I’m sorry that Ken died, {{{{Kathy}}}}.
April 6th, 2008 at 8:22 pm
We took a bunch of my dad’s tools and stuff, and for years I almost could hear his voice every time I picked them up. That’s faded into a kind of sweet nostalgia, which I suppose is healthy, and how life works—but yeah, in a way I want the pain back.
Of course you want your brother here with you, not up in some other-dimensional paradise sending you messages through carefully placed pennies.
Hugs to you.
April 6th, 2008 at 10:05 pm
Of course it will never stop. Death totally sucks. But it does get more bearable as time passes. One day the sharp ache and unexpected tears are replaced with a rueful smile and a deep sense of gladness that person was in your life, if only for awhile. But it will hurt for a long, long time. Chocolate helps!! And Mexican!! But never together, unless you have an hour to kill in the bathroom!
April 7th, 2008 at 5:06 am
My remaining siblings and I lost our parents over 30 years ago, one brother about 10 years back, and my younger brother 15 months ago. There will always be pain and a sense of loss, but as time passes I tend to remember more to smile about and less to shed tears over. I hope it works the same way for you, Kathy.
Oh, BTW, after keeping my garden alive with soaker hoses last year, it’s been such a wet Spring that I still don’t have the first thing planted. I’m going to try growing some tomatoes in large pots of “Mater Dirt” that was developed by Auburn University.
April 7th, 2008 at 9:10 am
Losing someone you love just sucks. I’m sorry.
You should hang onto those tools, though. I have my Grandma’s clothes pins. Some of them are so old (she was 93) that they are rounded and worn thin. Every single time I use them I think of her and how her hands wore them smooth. It’s almost like holding her hand, at one remove.
April 7th, 2008 at 9:30 am
I’m so sorry Kathy. Big Hugs. {{}}
Jay (from EA)
April 7th, 2008 at 12:41 pm
Thanks, everyone! Sorry to be slow to respond, but I’ve been up to my neck in taxes this morning.
Loss is part of the human journey. I suppose railing against it is as well. And eventually accepting it. And taking comfort from friends and family along the way. Y’all are the best!
April 7th, 2008 at 1:56 pm
No one is lost if they are remembered.
April 7th, 2008 at 2:55 pm
Kathy, you have my sympathy. Both my parents died before they should have. My father died 12 years ago;for years I felt like I would do anything,anything, to have him back.
April 7th, 2008 at 5:11 pm
Thanks, both of you. B, you’re so right.
April 7th, 2008 at 9:54 pm
Oh Kathy, I am sorry for your pain. I cried for 2 hours Saturday afternoon. I was going through more things in the house trying to sort what should go and what to keep. I found his 1975 high school yearbook. I stopped and starting looking through it and began sobbing and could not stop. Its so damn unfair that such a beautiful man has been taken from us. He and I should be going to garden tours and nurseries and planting our garden. I had to look up the pond forum site he used to find out how to get rid of string algae in the pond. He took care of that. I feel insecure and need to ask him so many things about things in the house and in the garden. And Zach, I just found the beautiful picture of him with his garden hat (original lifeguard hat) holding Allie wrapped in a towel after she had been swimming. I want to hold him, talk to him, get dinner for him.
Tonight, I resigned as Board president of MAO. I love the agency but my heart is not in it right now.( I cried about that too.) I am taking the rest of the week off to work outside and try to do more sorting and organizing inside the house.
People keep telling me I am doing good, but they can’t hear me screaming inside.
I love you Kathy.
T.
April 8th, 2008 at 8:07 am
BIL and Kathy,
I just don’t know what to say to either of you… other than I love you both more than I can say.
April 8th, 2008 at 9:07 am
Kathy, I am sorry. I can not imagine your pain. It shouldn’t be like this for you or for Tony. It just shouldn’t. Know that you are loved.
April 8th, 2008 at 9:49 am
BIL, you take good care of yourself. You know we’re just a call or a road trip away. I’d love to see the yearbook and the picture, even knowing I’ll be a puddle on the floor.
Thanks, all of you. I couldn’t make it without you.
April 8th, 2008 at 2:28 pm
Yeah, it’s the little things, isn’t it? Sorry.
April 8th, 2008 at 5:56 pm
Thanks, KathyF!