Today's Poem

This is the poem I woke to find in my in box this morning. That is all.

Graves We Filled Before the Fire
by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Some lose children in lonelier ways:
tetanus, hard falls, stubborn fevers

that soak the bedclothes five nights running.
Our two boys went out to skate, broke

through the ice like battleships, came back
to us in canvas bags: curled

fossils held fast in ancient stone,
four hands reaching. Then two

sad beds wide enough for planting
wheat or summer-squash but filled

with boys, a barren crop. Our lives
stripped clean as oxen bones.

Doing Hard Things

Living, I mean really living and not just getting through each day, might just be the hardest thing I do. Some days it's easier than others but no day is easy and remembering why I work so hard at it takes a lot of effort.

So, since it just makes sense to make things easier when you can, I'm going to spend the next sixteen days making a list of things in my life for which I am grateful. Some will be big and some not so much. In no particular order, each will be something that makes me smile, helps to center me, and keeps me moving in a generally forward direction.

Today's thing, first on my list, are my nieces and nephews; Britt's precious cousins. For those of you who don't know, I have six brothers and sisters (three of each) and among them they have twelve beautiful children. I used to dream of being an only child, but Britt did not love it. She was fortunate, though, to live close to some of her cousins and to get to visit the others. She adored her Capital C Cousin, Christopher. They were inseparable for most of their childhoods. She loved to talk about the weekend she spent at college with her cousin Amanda, and the time she went to Elizabeth City and her cousin Sean took her to coffee shop called "Muddy Waters." She went on a cruise with her cousins Bobby and Megan and her oldest cousin Susan's college graduation made her cry. Her little cousin Anna, born just a few months before her high school graduation, stole her heart. She never met her littlest cousin, Jack; he'll be two next week.

She loved her cousins with a fierceness that, not being an only child, I never quite understood. I love them, too, and am grateful for all the ways they remind me - every day - that good things continue to happen and that time, and I, must keep moving.

And, since no post is complete without at least one picture, here's one of my favorites: Britt as Bridesmaid to her cousin Amanda, in September of 2004.

An Open Letter to My Friend, Caroline

Dearest Caroline,

I just read (again!) your essay in A Few Thousand Words About Love and realized I had probably never told you how much it means to me. The first time I read it was just a few months after Britt was killed. I was visiting Katharine in Connecticut and she had a copy of the book on the table by the bed in her studio/guest cottage where I was sleeping. Just a few paragraphs in, I was crying so hard I could barely see and I'm afraid that section of her book is forever wavy from my tears. In the years since then, I've read it often and, the more time passes, the more I am struck by the truth of what you said: ..."as the capacity for pain grows, so does the capacity for joy. And when you know that sadness can visit at any time, your appreciation for happiness is overpowering."

Even in those very dark early days of my grief, you helped me decide not to be one of those people who allowed my grief to steal my life. I thought of you and your widows' group experience every time I went to a Compassionate Friends meeting...and granted myself permission to flee those rooms when the relentless "you will never be happy again" drum beat so loudly I couldn't hear myself think because you had done it, too.

These days I find joy in small and simple things...seeds that sprout in my garden, the exuberance of my dog, David's smile when I come home from work each day...things I know would also have given joy to Britt and though the grief is a tangible presence in each day so is her love and the love of my friends. I am so fortunate to count you among them.

much love to you,


d

P.S. - Those of you who don't know this book definitely should.

The House of Many Colors (or, How Even a Good Memory Can Hurt)

Years ago, we moved to the suburbs. Britt was starting middle school (6th grade) at a time when Savannah/Chatham County's middle schools were really struggling with security issues (drugs, random acts of violence, frequent lock-downs involving police squads and locker-sniffing dogs); in short, not the sort of environment we wanted for our girl. At the urging of her elementary school teachers, we sold our cool downtown town-home and hightailed it to the next county. For me, the move was disastrous. I found myself the only working mom on a cookie cutter cul-de-sac, with a one-way, hour long commute, and a brand new prescription for Celexa.

I starting painting the new house (decorated in seventeen shades of pink by the previous owners) and all the walls slowly turned to taupe. After the third room, Britt became a little alarmed. "Are all the rooms going to be this color?" she asked skeptically. "Mostly" I said. I pulled out all the designer talked I learned in my years at the design firm. Taupe is an excellent neutral. Taupe is a perfect backdrop. Taupe is timeless. Taupe, truly, was how I felt on the inside and I wanted to surround myself with its numbing sameness, one room at a time. "Ick" was her reply. And then, she looked me in the eye and "One day, I am going to have my own house and every room is going to be a different color, bright and flashy, and it will drive you crazy, mama." And then she flashed me a wicked grin and I laughed and allowed as she was probably right but that I would visit anyway and try to bite my tongue. But, that was a long way off and I did let her pick a vibrant blue for her room and we moved on.

Fast forward eleven years to this funky little farm house on the edge of town. I spent the weekend of August 8th and 9th painting the kitchen a bright apple green. And, as I wandered from room to room gathering supplies and taking short breaks, I slowly realized that - unconsciously - we have created the house of Britt's long-ago dreams. I was standing on the counter (not - regardless of what some people might say - an unreasonable place to be while a painting a kitchen) lost in the memory of that conversation and thinking how much she would really love the yellow living room, the red dining room, the new apple-y kitchen...and walked right off the counter into mid-air. Gravity being a law and not a suggestion, the moments that followed were not pretty. Urgent care visit, x-rays, sling....waiting for an MRI and hoping that I wont need surgery to repair a torn tendon or muscle in order to regain the use of my arm...yada, yada. I hope they get it sorted out and fixed soon, because the guest room is next on the painting list. I'm thinking a reddish orange...Britt would like that.

Finally, because no post is complete without pictures, here are a few shots of The House of Many Colors.

The living room:


The dining room:


And a couple of views of the kitchen (which still needs new curtains, but is otherwise finished, thanks to Dave who valiantly jumped in at the end and tied up all my loose ends):

Fits of Unreasonableness

Do you remember being young enough to say 'it's not fair!' and really believe - while you were saying it - that fairness mattered? I truly don't. Being one of the youngest of seven children I don't remember fairness having much to do with anything. Being older and bigger counted for a lot. Being the littlest counted sometimes. I wasn't either of those and I remember realizing at a pretty young age that sometimes you win or get or have, and sometimes you don't and that's the way life worked. I do remember Britt's struggles with fairness, though, and I think of them on days like today when I'm searching for some small measure of balance in a tilted universe.

Most days, I find the balance, usually only in my head and usually only after giving myself a stern talking to along the lines of 'life's not fair, Deb' or 'no one ever promised it was going to be easy.' Some days, though, I just don't feel like lecturing myself and I allow myself to wonder out loud if perhaps the universe doesn't think it's heaped enough huge piles of crap on my head...it has to also do things like make parking near the bookstore impossible while it's storming (I've seriously considered asking my doctor for a handicap tag for my car but I don't think emotional handicaps count) or infest my garden with aphids (really? What's next? Locusts? Hmm?). In the interest of fairness and balance shouldn't I - just occasionally - get a pass? Shouldn't I be able to ask the world in general "Are you KIDDING me?"

Well, of course not. And I know that. If things worked that way, well, life would would be a whole lot different for all of us. So, I don't give in to fits of unreasonableness often, or for long, but I do occasionally have them. I figure I'm owed that much.

Finish Line

Here we are, on the 31st of May and this is my 31st post of the month. By my unofficial blogathon-record-keeping that makes me an official runner and not a water-girl. Imagine that.

It's been quite a month in some respects and quite ordinary in others. Spring finally came and has started sliding slowly into summer. Work is busier as it is this time every year. Dave is busier too, as the summer travelers descend upon us. The garden has taken a lot of time...but it's good to be outside and occupied and to go to bed most nights genuinely and honestly tired.

I've spent more time really talking to people this month and am grateful beyond measure for the good, true friends in my life. Even though most of you are far away, you remain as close as my keyboard and my cellphone and I am lucky to have you in my life. And, I've spent more time - some every day! - writing, which is probably the best gift I could have given to myself. Special thanks to are due to my friend Sue for the nudge that finally worked and to dearest, darling Lisa (Happy Birthday, honey!) for being my Tag-along Blogathon Buddy.

I intend to keep this up. Maybe not every day, but most days...just because I like being here and I like knowing that you're all out there. I'm learning new things every day - about the world and about you and about myself. And those are all good things, yes?

To close out the month, here are some pictures of how the garden looks today:

Garden from the front

Garden from the side (note how the cucumber has escaped!)

Garden - Right Side (I really love that frog.)

Garden from the middle


Garden - Left Side

And also, a picture of Mojo, who loves being outside almost as much as I do. He's a good dog.

Noise In My Head

Some days, there is a lot of noise in my head. It's there when I wake up - a low buzzing chatter of 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' and 'whys.' The noise can be deafening and also crippling. I've found there are only two ways to deal with it: constant motion or surrender. To surrender to the noise is to spend the whole day in my pajamas, curled up and alternately crying and sleeping. I do this occasionally and think it helps keep me sane. Today was not about surrender, but motion, and I am tired.

I slept for twelve hours last night and woke with that buzzing in my head. I made coffee and went out to inspect the garden. Not nearly enough work to do there these days...the garden has reached the 'watch and wait' stage. So, instead, I starting moving. I grabbed my mom and we headed downtown. The original plan was bagels and the library. I missed the turn to the bagel place about the same I remembered the new Farmers' Market in The Big Park downtown. So we revised our plan (okay, I revised and Mom - who's very good at going along for the ride - said okay) and headed there instead. The market was small but had a great assortment of vegetables and plants, mostly organic, and the marvelous egg-farmers I met at the GreenFest a few weeks ago were there. I bought a few tomatoes, a bibb lettuce plant to add to the garden and some patty-pan squash which I've heard of but never seen before and they are fun-looking, like flying saucers:



Then we hit the coffee shop at the edge of the park. The Sentient Bean may be the best-named coffee shop ever, particularly since it is also a totally organic vegetarian cafe. Also it's local and they display art from the local art school and have a diverse clientele and it's just all around a better experience than going to Starbucks. Mind, I love Starbucks, but Starbucks is the Disneyland of coffeehouses - too smooth around the edges and I wish I lived closer to the Sentient Bean because I would hang out there on the funky purple sofas and watch people and write more.

After coffee, we scooted back up the street to the library. I found several books about kitchen gardens (always good to read up AFTER you've begun a project, yes?), a good bird-guide for Dave, Christopher Moore's Fool and a couple of Haven Kimmel novels. (I've never read any Kimmel but I am inclined toward liking her work). Mom found some books she liked too, and you cannot ask for much more out of a library trip than that.

I took mom home after the library but I didn't stop moving for long. Home to stash the vegetables and books and then back out to the salon where I got a new, much shorter do. I like it...no pictures yet, though. Then an early supper with Dave, a short exploration of the fancy-pants nursery on the corner across from the restaurant, back to mom's to show off the hair and then home.

My sister, Stephi, came by - which is always nice - and then a little later Anna and Jack and the Parental Units brought their dog to visit Mojo. And on and on and on...until I finally sat down to write this. I'm finally tired enough to sleep, I think. I hope it will be quieter tomorrow.

Family Portraits

Tonight, it's pictures again.

Christmas, 1989

Noon Day Baptist Church, Swainsboro, GA
Harbuck Family Reunion, 1990

Britt's High School Graduation - Effingham County High School - May 21, 2004

The Antidote to Feh

In the last couple of days I've been doing a lot of thinking about what it means to be the mother of a gay child. Musing a lot about the obligations and responsibilities inherent therein, above and beyond the already overwhelming ones that come with with motherhood in general. And the magnification of those obligations and responsibilities now that my girl is gone and cannot speak for herself. It's a lot to get a handle on and when I posted on Tuesday about my disappointment in the California Supreme Court's decision in the Prop 8 case I was feeling more than a little discouraged.

The two days since have been a little bit of a marvelous discovery, though, and also uplifting. First, there's been the response of my nearest and dearest friends. All predictably - but not inconsequentially - supportive of equal rights for the GLBT community. I am fortunate to be surrounded with their love. Second, there has been the willingness of people to discuss the issue and voice their support in some very public spaces: here and at Facebook and at work. And there has also been a lot of wonderful writing on the subject and I rejoice, once again, to be living in the Information Age, where words can travel around the world in an instant and access to them is unfettered by time or location.

The Atlanta Journal Constitution emailed me a news update that was actually NEWS (rather than celebrity gossip or sports statistics) for once: Two of the three major candidates for Mayor in Atlanta unequivocally support the right of gays to marry. The third openly supports 'civil unions' (I'm pretty sure we've tried 'separate-but-equal' before and it didn't work...) but his past comments and actions suggest he personally supports gay marriage but hasn't quite worked out being comfortable saying so on the campaign trail. That's pretty huge for Georgia and I am very pleased. Salon and the SF Chronicle have, of course, had some excellent columns. But the best thing I've read yet is this blog post by author Haven Kimmel.

I encourage you all to read it, especially and particularly those of you I haven't heard from or talked with. Because this isn't about religion, or what you think about homosexuality. It not about what you fear or don't understand. It's about civil rights. Plain and simple. Yours and mine and Britt's.

Think about it.

Feh.

Today I find my disgusted with the entire state of California. Exemptions are granted, of course, to the handful of people I know and love there. Also to the turtles at a particular pond in GG park, because I love them, too, even if they are not quite evolved enough to love me back. All the rest of it is on My List.

The reason, of course, is the decision the California State Supreme Court announced today in which they declined to overturn Proposition 8. They also declined to invalidate the 18K marriages that took place among Gay & Lesbian couples during the short period of time during which equal protection under was actually recognized in California (for which I applaud them, even as I consign them to My List), and thereby paved the way for another referendum/ballot intiative/vote on whether or not California - like so many other state in this country - will continue to deny the rights guaranteed by the 14th Amendment to a portion of its citizens.

Britt did not live long enough to see her country rise above this bigotry. She died knowing that there were people in her own family who thought she was good enough to be in their weddings...but not good enough to deserve one of her own. In her memory, and because I know it's the Right Thing to do, I'll continue to support equality for all Americans. I hope I live long enough to see it.

Tantrum In My Head

Here's something you might have guessed: some days, I am very angry. Pissed off, perturbed beyond all reason, beyond annoyed with absolutely every one and every thing. Inside my head, I am a three year-old in full blown tantrum mode and I want to scream and hurl myself to the floor and kick things. I want to say out loud all the angry, hurtful, hateful things I am thinking and smash things into a million little pieces.

Of course, I don't do any of those things. I get snappy and snippy and start fights with Dave over what's for dinner or the current temperature of the air indoors as opposed the air outside. I mow the grass at a breakneck speed in the face of an approaching storm and ponder, abstractly, the odds of being struck by lightning. I do laundry until there isn't a single thing left in the house that needs washing. Then I wash things that aren't dirty. And I cry. A lot. Because it has to come out somehow and that full blown tantrum isn't going to cut it.

People will forgive a lot, I know. But there are lines that really cannot be crossed, words you cannot say because you can never unsay them, things you cannot put together after they've been broken; and so there are times, and places in my head, where I'll always be alone. And that is just one more thing that pisses me off.

On a cheerier note, here's a picture of Re-bar Chicken. I bought him at a roadside junk store about a dozen years ago. I saw him and just had to have him. Britt was the only person who ever understood the attraction. I miss how she really got me.

Modern-Day Dilemmas

Today I heard a bittersweet story about an old man and a digital picture frame. The old man in this story has early onset dementia and having pictures around helps him to remember faces he might otherwise forget. It also helps his caregivers to have a glimpse or several of the wonderful life he lived Before. So, in this very modern age, his daughters thought a digital picture frame would be a wonderful gift for him. Makes sense, yes? After all, space is limited in those assisted living places and there are only so many surfaces and so much wall space to accommodate frames. With a digital frame you can have hundreds of pictures...perfect. Only, not so much. One day, the daughters noticed that the old man had covered the picture frame with an article of clothing. Not one casually tossed, but one carefully placed to hide the pictures. When questioned, he explained that the picture frame made him uncomfortable. He'd look and see one picture and them look at it again and it was changed. And then changed again. He thought his mind was playing terrible tricks on him and he couldn't bear it.

I have one of those digital picture frames, too. I mostly love it. It was a present from Dave and he has loaded it with hundreds of pictures from the last last twenty-something years. It sits on my desk at work and every morning I boot up my computer and turn on my frame. Like most things that are there all the time it's mostly background after a year; like the pictures on my bookshelves and the framed certificates on my wall, I don't spend a whole lot of time just looking at it. But, every once in a while, I happen to glance over at it and am struck by the image on the screen. And every once in a while I am just felled by one and have to leave my office and go outside to the little smoking patio in the back and talk to the lab cats and collect myself. Like this one, of Britt crabbing on Kilkenny Creek. This one gets me every time.

What It's Like

I've been spending some time looking at old pictures lately, partly because it's something to do while I wait for the garden to need me and partly because pictures are a good way to remind me of the many things I want to say here. (Also, they make my posts look longer and give you something to do here if I'm babbling.)

This is a great picture:
It's Britt (second from left, for those of you who didn't know her when she was small) with her cousins, Chris, Bobby, and Megan. In case the giant mouse head on the lawn didn't clue you in, it was taken at Disney World where the cousins (and my sister Stephanie and I) had a grand time, marred only by the approximately three minutes that Megan - the youngest of the bunch - was lost. At Disney. The story had a happy ending (Megan's off at college preparing to be a doctor now) but anyone who's ever lost a child at the mall or the playground or in the house or at Disney knows what those three minutes were like. Panic. Fear. Dread. The overwhelming need to do something, to fix it, to make it right. The knowledge of the rightness of knowing that everything else must. stop. until this nightmare is over. The surge of adrenaline that makes you know you would do, could do anything...and then the crashing waves of relief when you see that tear-stained face, rushing towards you. You can breathe again and the anvil that was on your chest disappears and life. is. good.

Now, imagine - just for a moment - that the crashing wave of relief never comes. You will spend the rest of your life just inches from that place. Panic, fear, and dread live just below the surface of every minute of every day. And the world doesn't stop and the nightmare is never over but you have to find a way to breathe anyway. That's what it's like.

Riding the Wave

Not long ago, I was completely undone when I spotted a ladybug in my garden. My girl loved ladybugs and used to bring them to me whenever she found one so I could make a wish on it before she let it go. I never knew where she got the idea for making wishes on ladybugs. I asked her once when she was about eight and she just shrugged and said 'I've always known that.' It's been a long since I've paid close enough attention to spot something as small as a ladybug and that one took me by surprise and not in a good way. For the first time, though, the aftermath of a sneaker wave wasn't all bad. A lot of good memories came in on that tide. I think that's progress and to celebrate, I'd like to share the gift that David gave me for Mother's Day:


Take that, Wave. I'm learning to tread water.

Camping

Recently my friend Lisa mentioned camping and I realized how very long it's been since I slept outside. Back when Britt was young, she loved being a Girl Scout and we camped a lot. Her high school years didn't leave a lot of time for camping; she was busy singing and dancing and acting and writing. But the last time I talked to her, two days before she died, one of things we talked about was camping out on the dock of the new house I was moving into that day. Summer was coming and the time for sleeping out and laughing and talking into the night was nigh. It never came but I wish it had. She was an excellent camper.

Perfect Timing

In mid-April, as my least favorite time of the year hit with a vengeance, I threw myself into making a garden in the backyard. I broke sod, dug a plot, shopped for plants, and hauled mulch. I borrowed tools and robbed Peter to pay Home Depot. I raided my mom's yard for odds and ends and statuary that she's been holding on to for me for years.

This is where we started, four weeks ago on April 19th:

And this is where we are today:


Mother's Day is drawing to a close. This year, I did not scream at anyone except Dave (who understands and whose turn is coming); I did not hear from everyone I thought I would and I heard from a few people who surprised me in the best possible way (that happens every year on these hard days and I probably shouldn't keep that tally in my head but I do, and I probably shouldn't be surprised and disappointed each time, but I am).

Darling Anna and Jack came to visit me, courtesy of their parental-units; here they are, sitting on the coffee table with their beautiful mother:


Every one is at home now, and the planting is finished. After four weeks of spending every available minute of daylight working/digging/moving/sweating, there's nothing to do now but water when the rains are delayed and wait. Couldn't have worked out better if I'd planned it.

Mother's Day

If ever there's a day that's fraught with landmines and potential sneaker waves after you've lost a child it's this one. So far, this particular one has been pretty smooth. (It's early and I hope I haven't jinxed it.) I've been bustling about, catching up on the chores I've been neglecting while I've been obsessing over the vegetable garden and just letting the memories come as they will. One is especially sweet.

The year that Britt was seven she asked if she could throw a party for 'ALL the mommies' in her life. She invited me (I was flattered), both her grandmothers, my grandmother, and her aunts who lived in town. Everyone accepted and she was very excited about hosting her first grownup party. We had pastries and coffee and iced tea. There was lots of laughter (she graciously allowed her father to attend and eat some things but not some of everything because, after all, he was NOT a mommy). The best part, though, were the gifts, because she'd worked so hard on them and was so proud. She presented each of us with a strawberry pot filled with impatiens. Mine was larger than the others (flattered again), but they were all lovely and I was very proud of both her accomplishment and her sweetness.


Being Britt's mom is still the best gift ever. This pot was a pretty great one, too.

Lots of Words...But Random

My friend Sue over at A Life Divided had these cool Wordles on her page today, so I made one, too. I tried to make it bigger, but finally gave up. If you click on it, it's easier to read.

Marigolds for My Girl

Britt loved marigolds. She used to call planting them 'growing sunshine'. Our early flower gardens were mostly shaded and not particularly suited to growing them. She nurtured them in small pots in sunny spaces and wished for a huge, sunny yard. Then, that wish came true and we spent four years with a huge yard that got lots of sun. Every year, after we planted the vegetable garden, she and I would make a special trip to the nursery and gather some of every sort of marigold they had. Orange, red, yellow, small and big and even the giant African marigolds came home with us. We'd plant them around the vegetables like sentinels and she loved that her Growing Sunshine also helped to kept the pests away.

So, last night, in the last empty space in the vegetable plot, I planted a row of marigolds for my girl. We could all use a little extra sunshine, yes?

Important Things

Last night my friend Lisa and I had a conversation about the pros and cons of random capitalization: why we do it, whether or not we should encourage it, possible cultural influences, etc. You know, just a regular Tuesday night conversation between word freaks. She told me that in German one capitalizes Important Things so as to mark their importance. I don't know if there are specific rules about what qualifies as Important or if each writer gets to choose for themselves. I hope it's the latter.

Assuming so, and if I wrote in German, these are some words I would capitalize. Always.

Grief
Loss
My Girl
Silence
Heartache
Frog Band
Bereavement
Storm

And, of course:

Friend