Gardening

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In 2001 my ex-husband Pablo and I bought a two-acre farm in Sacramento County. For me, this was a dream come true. Even though I was born in Oakland, I’ve always been a country-girl at heart, and for as long as I can remember I’ve maintained a garden of some sort in which to find peace, contentment, and a sense of accomplishment (at least some of the time!). There’s nothing quite like stepping outside to pick some veggies for your dinner or grab a peach off your tree, and the feeling of rich, well-worked soil in my hands literally grounds me when my head and heart are spinning.

I’ve endless stories to tell about my gardening experiences, but since I’ve just spent four hours weeding yet another garden row that was inundated with invaders and my arch-nemesis Bermuda grass, I have weeds on my mind.

Experience has taught me that weeds thrive in poor, dry soil that lacks organic matter and living creatures (worms are the surest sign of healthy dirt) and thus would be unlikely to support other more desirable plants in a robust manner. Bermuda grass is a prime example. Its roots run very deep (at least a foot) and spread so quickly and so far that it’s virtually impossible to exterminate without extremely strong and harmful chemicals that would kill everything green within range. Miss one small root while weeding, and the damn stuff will be back with a vengeance in no time. There have been times when I’ve been ready to throw in the trowel and take up soap operas!

While weeding is without a doubt a necessity, as painful as it can be, equally important is adequate water and mulching with rich organic matter (amazing how weeds thrive in pavement cracks where no water or nutrients reach). As we have sheep, goats, llamas, and poultry, this organic “gold” is readily at hand. And the manure of the before mentioned animals is “cool” enough to put directly around growing plants without harm, unlike steer manure, which is initially too “hot” and would burn and possibly destroy young plants.

Of course, I’m not attempting to provide gardening lessons here (though if you gain some insight, no harm), but the metaphors are too obvious to ignore. Perhaps our very lives are our personal gardens. We have the potential to bear fruit, vegetables, and the most beautiful and exotic plants and flowers, and we can equally bear nothing but scraggly tufts and invasive, creeping weeds such as Bermuda and crab grass. While weeds are living things in their own right (they are, in fact, plants you haven’t invited into your garden), they do little to nothing to feed your soul if you’re trying to grow beautiful flowers and food for your table. They are, in fact, the gardener’s enemy that must be constantly attacked to keep at bay.
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Let’s face it, water is beautiful as long as it’s not inappropriately extreme (constantly soggy ground will kill new plants as sure as dried-out, “dead” soil), and watering is easy enough even though it can be a major chore in Sacramento summer heat. I would compare watering to providing the peace, nurturance, and restfulness that our bodies and souls need to survive. Although this sounds like a no-brainer, how many of us regularly take the time to truly relax and renew? We have a million excuses involving the endless list of chores that consume us, but truthfully, we simply are not our own priority.

So if we provide the water, where does the mulch come from? I can’t help but compare manure to the bullshit of life, (as I warned earlier, I’m not all about the flowery language of a demure lady) that causes us so much grief and pain, and the decomposing leaves, the memories, once so vivid and beautiful, that are slowly fading to dust. Yet, this very fertilizer is the stuff that makes us strong when we absorb the goodness and learn to glean the richness from the experience. All we have to do is look at the people around us. Although easy to envy, those folks who appear to have never suffered challenges or loss tend to be incredibly shallow people who lack understanding or empathy for others. This is, of course, a sweeping generalization, yet one that I have found to be true in my life. The most generous people I’ve met are those who have known lack, even poverty. And the friends I hold dearest have all experienced loss and suffering yet have beautiful compassion, loyalty, and understanding. I can be jealous of the peace and prosperity of those with easy lives, but I don’t think I’d trade most of the experiences that have molded me into the person I am.

And the weeding? For me, it means digging into the pain and ugliness and extracting it by any means possible without destroying the health of the surrounding soil (and the squiggly creatures). Sometimes, I think I’ve reached the root, but on closer inspection, I find that I’ve merely broken it, and the source is far deeper than I anticipated. Reaching the origin of the root takes a sharp shovel, fit legs, elbow grease, and a strong grip.

I would liken losing my daughter to having a heap of steer manure dumped on me (strange allusion, isn’t it?). The heat has threatened to destroy the essence of my life. I can only hope that my roots run deep, and that as the manure cools and nutrients sink in, shoots will once again appear above ground, reaching for the sun and bearing beautiful, nurturing fruit. I owe this to my beloved daughter, and to my daughter and husband who still live, to not allow her death to totally destroy me. My aim has been to never impart that level of guilt to my children or make them responsible for my emotional wellbeing. Yet, only time will tell, as the seasons move on, whether I learn again to thrive.

Coconut Water

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Grocery shopping has never been my favorite chore. I’m not into crowds, aisles, a million choices and brands, or buying 15 items when my intention was to purchase two. However, nowadays, going shopping is more of an emotional challenge than just another thing I’d rather avoid. Nowadays, the triggers abound.

I shopped for or with my mother for years (until she could no longer walk the aisles or understand what she was looking at). She died one month short of her 96th birthday, and her food choices largely remained the same until the end. While she still cooked: enchilada sauce and long tubes of high-fat hamburger for when she made several dozen enchiladas (and then gave them away to anyone who would take them); chicken thighs and hot dogs for both herself and her extremely overweight dog; 10-pound bags of potatoes and two-quart jars of mayonaise for when she made potato salad (see enchilada comment above); Lay’s Potato Chips, fillet mignon steak, thick lamb chops, and the makings of her famous rum cakes (she would make nine at a time to take to her quarterly visits with her doctor). During the last few years of her life, she developed a sweet tooth:. Add to the list cookies of all kinds involving chocolate, chocolate candy bars, ice cream drumsticks, and her passion–Entenmann’s Donuts. Her favorite store was the Grocery Outlet or the Dollar Store–her idea of Heaven, no doubt–where she could buy innumerable items at a cheap price.

While I haven’t food-shopped too often for my girls since they left home, I still know their tastes and preferences. Memories are constant as I push the cart up aisles where arguments over sweet vs. healthy cereals held court. I was always strict with what my girls were allowed–fresh fruit and veg, meats, dairy, healthy carbs, all homemade foods–though certainly they were never deprived. As long as they consumed a suitable amount of their dinner, they were allowed dessert (“Mom, I’m full,” one girl would say. I would reply, “How old are you?” “Six (or 14!).” Eat six (or 14) more bites then.”) My system worked. When they were at their dad’s house, they were allowed much more lattitude, but I was the one saying “no.”
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A couple months after Jess passed, I was nearing the check-out and saw a stand of individual-sized bottles of Sunny Delight, something I have never purchased, though I’m sure my girls have drunk. I stood staring at the sugary sweet offending items with one thought stuck in my mind: “All the things I denied my girls to keep them healthy, intelligent (only one hour of TV a night), strong, and Jessie is still dead. All the heartaches and arguments didn’t keep my girl alive.” Enter another wave of despair.

I still have those moments of overwhelming regret, but nowadays, when I shop, I’m simply struck by the bittersweet memories of my mother and daughter (I do shop with Sarah sometimes, always watching closely what she picks and still encouraging healthy choices…I simply can’t help myself). Last week, I was doing a quick search for Perrier and saw the cans of coconut milk Jess so loved yet would never again drink, just as my mother will never again have her donuts or cookies. I believe they know no lack where they now reside–hunger and taste are for the living–and as for shopping for my mother, I can’t forget the many times I complained about the chore (she’d send me out every other day to pick up something she “needed”). Who knew I’d end up standing in the aisle holding sweet cereal, pop tarts, or coconut water, tears running down my face, wishing that I could make a simple purchase, see my mother’s smile, or be blessed to hear “Thanks, Mom!”

Letter – Jan. 23, 2015

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Jan. 23, 2015

Some days, my child, the grief of losing you simply is too much. I grieve my 25-year-old Jessica, the beautiful, gracious woman with quick wit, an amazing mind, a generous spirit, open arms, and unending love, not to mention a snortty laugh.

I miss my 22-year-old Jess, so confused and broken, so angry, stubborn, and yet needy, though a very hard person for this mother to be around, I could do nothing right. But no matter. You know and knew, I hope, that I’ve always loved you even when I didn’t liked the things you were doing.

I miss my wonderfully curious and adventurous teenager, even though as all teenagers do, the older you got the less you wanted or needed me around. You tasted freedom and wanted to soar. All the secrets a teenager keeps close to her heart…But look out world. Jessica was ready to take over. We never knew how much you were suffering for loving and losing, for trusting people who were never worth your loyalty.

And then the child who could never be mean to her mommy (your words, not mine). The fabulous soccer player, horse rider, hiker, pottery painter, Irish dancer…The girl who needed to try everything though seldom stuck to anything (except soccer, of course). Nonetheless, you broadened your spirit, mind, and knowledge of all things possible. Always seeking something new. You smiled so much, but cried just as easily when your gentle heart was broken. And yes, you could talk the ear off a deaf man. The gorgeous photo of you dressed up for First Communion, looking at the camera with such innocence and excitement sits on your altar. My girl.
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And then I grieve so overwhelmingly my little Jessie Bear. The bright star child that everyone adored even with your endless chatter, your need to communicate with the world. You were born with so many questions and even more answers. I’ll never forget how the preschool rules were bent when you were allowed to join at 2 1/2, so eager and excited to play with all the children, do art projects, and sit in circle singing your tiny heart out. Such a very good girl.

But Jess, just as much do I miss my tiny baby cuddling in my arms, always staring deeply into my eyes, grasping my finger, hair or jewelry, falling asleep so peacefully with no cares or fears. And even further, my unseen, unborn soul-child whom I know I’ve loved far before conception. So close to my beating heart, so entirely a part of me.

So, my girl, you see I grieve and love not just the woman you became and the woman you were yet to become, but the many hundreds, thousands of you who are the stars of all my Jessica dreams and memories. Pablo told me when he learned he had cancer that he didn’t mind dying but he just couldn’t live with the pain. There is no morphine to release me from the despair of losing you, nor from the fear for the safety and health of your precious sister Sarah. No one warns you early in life that the price of unending love is often agony. I have yet to learn how to build a life around my mutilated heart. I need your light to show me the way.

 

A Year’s Journey — 2014

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What if “the facts” we were taught as children aren’t facts at all, aren’t true?
What if the children’s world we inhabited was the “real” world, and the scoldings and moldings were to keep us inside a small black-and-white box that adults could comfortably occupy without questioning their existence?

What if black-and-white is the lie, and the truth is always gray?
What if the solid world we live in is the illusion, and we’re simply players in our own created dramas?
What if we’ve been taught to shut our eyes and close our ears to the real world, the parallel dimension that we all inhabit, in which time doesn’t exist but all souls dwell?

What if we could silence and center ourselves so we could see and hear what’s all around us?
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What if a mother’s heart never accepts finality or separation, always knowing these are the true deceptions and choosing instead to experience what others deny?
What if choosing the “improvable” brings solace, grace, and continued connectedness? What if she’s here by my side?

Who cares what skeptics say? Pain, separation, despair are the ultimate rewards for denying the possibility of all things. Even if the naysayers are ultimately right, they suffer where I rejoice.

Autumn Thoughts–Sept. 25, 2014

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I wear your shoes, your scarf, your jacket, your ring.
I take sips from the bottle of water you left behind.
I listen over and over to your last phone message and watch videos of you so vibrant and full of life.

Always hoping I will feel your nearness, your continued presence, your permanence, oh, child of mine.

This is the defining cialis india generic mark of Erectile dysfunction. These factors lead to degeneration of their penile tissues due to excessive hand practice also cause weak viagra 100mg tablet erection. In addition, looking levitra 20 mg great amerikabulteni.com at the overall posture and gait will help evaluate how well the spine is working and moving. Blood sugar is level is amount of sugar present in body and its normal range before breakfast is 70-100 mg/decilitre, but after meal it increases to 135-140 mg/decilitre. levitra tablets I cannot, Will Not accept that you are gone, never again to hear your voice, touch your beautiful, sweet face, hold you in my arms forever. There is no comfort in a loving god or promises of bye-and-bye.

When you died, I died, my life died. Nothing left but a tin woman remaining for those left behind, those too, whom I have loved with all my heart.
Will we ever be reborn?
Sept. 25, 2014

June 16, 2014

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Today would have been by beautiful daughter, Jessie’s, 26th birthday, but Jess will remain forever frozen in time as my beloved 25-year-old child. I feel that I haven’t only lost my grown daughter, but my infant child, bouncy toddler, little girl, tweenie, and teenager. I’ve lost my future proud graduate, beautiful bride, son-in-law, grandchildren, and a matured daughter who is serene in her unconditional self-love and has achieved so many of her dreams. We have lost so much, though we were blessed to be with you for 25 years and still have our precious Sarah.
Jessie was a gloriously happy, cuddly infant and toddler, Demanding, yes. But sweet as honey. I clearly remember both of my girls as babies. Sarah always wanted to be head-up, independent, checking out the world, while Jess just wanted to snuggle.

I was always afraid I couldn’t love unconditionally until I had my babies. From that time on, I knew that no matter what they did at any time in their lives, I would love them, not because I was all-forgiving, but because they were and are a part of me, separate, yes, but bound by heart and blood. Now, I have to survive without the living connection to Jess. Sarah and my husband, Chris, keep me bound to this earth, but my heart wants to soar off in search of my little girl. Happy Birthday, my darling.
The medicine is so very effective that it is widely available as ‘Pfizer buy cialis ‘ at any authorised medical pharmacy. Best of all, perhaps, is that you can change healthy lifestyle, for example losing weight, executing smoking; lowering alcohol consumption, avoiding intake of illegal drugs and performing more exercise can all help for preventing the viagra discount condition. You will never even feel any fatigue even when it comes to drug and alcohol tests for sildenafil from canada the license. cialis pill online By using a legitimate and licensed online pharmacy, such as Epillsrx.com. Mom will always love you, Jessie Bear.

May 9, 2014

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Six months tomorrow, little bear. I still do not, cannot, will not believe you are gone. I know in my soul that you’re right next to me. That’s where I feel you. You are eternal. I am temporal in this form. But I will find you. As the song goes, if it takes a million years, I will find you.

I can’t help but wonder where you would be now. Would you have begun to master Photo Shop and started making good money working with Isaac? I know you were saving to go to Ireland this summer and would be getting excited about that. Would you still be working at Yard House? Whatever, wherever, I know there would have been change and excitement in your life. That’s just who you were, and you were in a good place with people who adored you and appreciated you for the beautiful soul you are.
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EVERYONE misses you. You inspired so many who have learned to go for the gusto and be all they can. Me, I do my best to make it through each day without you a phone call away. But sure, you were not the best communicator, so I can pretend you’re just being negligent getting back to me. I’m always here, my love, just a phone call away. Love you, love you, love you, Mom.

April 10, 2014

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Baby girl, today marks five months since you left us, a very hard day. I still can’t believe or accept that you are gone. Sent in your final tax forms today…so sad you won’t ever pay taxes again. I bet no one has ever said that. But for all the folks bemoaning owing money for unpaid tax, imagine never again paying taxes or going for a walk or having a meal with your family, never marrying, never having children or grandchildren, or buying a house, or having your dreams come true. Imagine signing your daughter’s last tax form because she is no longer here to do it. And say a quiet thank you that your biggest complaint right now is writing a check to the government. I would trade places with you in a blink to have my Jessie Bear back. You have my heart, dear Jess.

Love, Mom
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Prescience

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You’d think you’d get some sort of warning
like when a train is coming and you’re miles down the road
you hear the rumbling, the whistle, feel the vibration on the tracks if you kneel and place your cheek to the metal…

that would be fair, kind, thoughtful
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not sneaking up on you, some thief, rapist, murderer, ghoul thrusting bony fingers through your back deep into your chest and tearing – no, ripping – your heart in half leaving only jagged, bleeding flesh, no longer beating, just carrion feed

while you sit on the tracks in your easy chair watching the sun sink silently into the earth
You’d think you’d sense when your world is about to end so you could savor one last deep easy breath before dying.

Read at Jessica’s funeral, Nov. 21, 2013

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My dearest baby Jessie Bear,

I can’t believe, cannot accept that you have left me. You were supposed to live forever, my love. You had so many dreams, so many gifts, so much beauty. Baby, I don’t even know what happened to you at the end. This pain of knowing that I won’t see you again in this life is far too great to carry. From way before you were born, before Sarah was born, all that I wanted from life were my babies. I am not the modern feminist I appear to be, I guess, not when my only real dream (other than swimming with dolphins and seeing the invisible world, crazy mom that I am) was to get pregnant, give birth, nurse my babies, and watch them grow into strong women. I originally wanted 14 children (hah, hah), but life didn’t work out that way. But before ever your sister or you were born I was wracked by the fear that one or both of you would be taken from me. I’m not talking about a casual fear like of cockroaches (right, Sarah), or an out-of-date quart of milk in the fridge. My fear was the lie-awake-at-night-and-beg-the-gods kind of fear: “Please, please don’t take my babies! Take me, take parts of me, all of me, leave me blind and paralyzed, but please don’t take my babies.” These begging sessions would be followed by the threats: “If you take my babies, I will HATE you forever! I will never worship you again…” It was only when a psychic friend of mine told me that she saw my girls both outliving me that I finally started relaxing and trusting that you both would be OK. Looking back, I don’t know if I should ask for a refund or thank her for the few years of peace she gave me.

So now you have left your body, and what a beautiful body it is. But your spirit, your mind, your wonderful, beautiful soul is what I want back, Baby Girl. You and I struggled at times when you were an older teen and even more recently. Much of our struggles were because we were so very much alike. I used to apologize to you for that likeness knowing that being as deeply emotional as I am, as deeply feeling, you were going to experience a significant amount of pain in your life, pain which I wanted desperately to prevent. So while wanting to give you your freedom, as you deserved, I also wanted you to heed my words and experiences so I could protect you from the pain that was sure to come. But I wasn’t able to protect you, my bright girl, was I?

I was so blessed to give birth to you, to nurse you and cuddle you, holding you so close to my heart. You were a cuddler, which was lovely, but you were also fiercely independent and demanding at times. Dad insisted I wean you when you took to screaming your demand for “MUCK,” known to the rest of us as milk, anytime you wanted it no matter where we were. If not immediately offered to you, you would proceed to scream as if we had denied you Santa Claus at Christmas. I was nearly thrown out of Emigh’s Hardware one day during one such tantrum.
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As a child you were both terribly sensitive and a bit of a whiner, but you were game for so many things. Like me, you loved all animals. Unlike me, you adored sports. You loved to play games, read, do art, help cook and bake, sew and be with all your friends in Cohousing where you lived till you were about 12. You were always a sweet, loving child. Your very eyes when they looked at me glistened with love, and you’d do anything with me that I asked…hiking, sightseeing, those things parents love to do with children and teenagers. Later you shared with me that when you were about 12 you saw your sister sassing me, being generally an adversarial teenager, and you told me: “I thought, ‘I could never be mean to Mommy, I love her too much.’ But later, I was as bad if not worse than Sarah!” That was a hard change to deal with.

We certainly had a few hard years between 20 and 24. You’d swing from loving and kind to demanding and painfully blame-filled. Throughout all of this, I loved you, Baby, always. It broke my heart, I cried a river of tears, it wrenched my soul, and I wracked my brain trying to figure out how to heal the distance between us, but could find no solution, and so I was left to release the situation and hope, in time, things would resolve between us. They did, I believe, when you moved to L.A. Finally, away from Sacramento influences and with a whole new world opening to you, you began to blossom in happiness and a growing self-assurance as you spread your wings in your own new world. I’m so very grateful you had that time and that you were surrounded by beautiful people like Beck, Isaac, and Erik, and so many other friends who were drawn to your bright light.

Now your bright light is gone from my life. If I didn’t have Sarah, Chris, and others who love and need me, I would follow you into the dark, my Love. I would never let go of your hand until you were comforted by angels and were ready to take off and fly into another adventure. I will ALWAYS be your mommy. You will always be my heart. I already feel you with me at times, your arms wrapped around me, saying, “I’m so sorry, Mommy, for leaving…” But I will miss your brightness, your love, your light every day until we meet again, and I wrap you in my arms. Go to the light, my beautiful sweet, Jessie Bear!