Like A Phoenix (redux)

 The ache is still acute sometimes. I feel it in the quiet after dinner when I’m left to put away the food and clean the kitchen without company. I feel it late every night when the silence of the house settles in and I get ready for sleep, staring at the empty, flat side of the bed.

I still spend a fair amount of time looking back. Chris is on my mind every day still. It is not an exaggeration to say that nearly every waking hour I have thoughts and memories of him. There is still a lot of pining for my old life, what I fight myself to not consider my real life. After all, if my real life is over, and that life is indeed over, where does that leave me now? Am I not alive anymore? Is this my fake life? It doesn’t feel entirely comfortable yet and certainly not one of my choosing, that is for sure...

What am I supposed to do now? What should I do with these days right now? The pressure to make something of my time weighs on me.

As usual, my Phoenix helpfully reminds me to stay in the here and now. She frequently demands my attention as dogs do, and I credit her for saving me many times over from fretting over my purpose and the future.

I learn from Phoenix when I pay attention. Once, I literally saw how sustained looking back doesn’t serve her well. We were on a walk and she became distracted by a group of people behind us. Phoenix could not be dissuaded from watching the walkers and her neck craned to look over her shoulder in curiosity. As she walked forward with her head turned back, she smacked directly into our neighbor’s car. The kids and I laughed once we confirmed that she was just fine, but I filed this moment away as it held an important lesson for me…

That dog. She is funny. She is a live wire of enthusiasm and energy, eager to protect our home and her yard. One morning she leapt off my bed before 6:00 to howl wildly at a large turkey strolling across our street directly in front of her living room couch lookout. She quivered with excitement and her voice cracked mid-howl as that tom spread his magnificent feathers as if to taunt her. Later that same day, Phoenix and I were playing fetch when a hawk flew overhead. She immediately tensed her muscles, looked skyward, and let loose a howl that was only slightly distorted by the tennis ball still in her mouth. In the dead of night, she wakes me with her doggie nightmares accentuated by whining, shaking, and mini howls. During the day, when I would sometimes like to work uninterrupted, Phoenix assertively pushes her snout under my arm so I cannot type. Often, she will then put her front paws on my lap and further escalate the interaction by moving her paws up to my shoulders so I am forced to turn away from the computer for a full body hug and slobbery kisses.

Phoenix can also be mellow, enjoying afternoons curled tightly into a ball of sweetness next to one of her people. She anticipates bedtime and chooses a person to snuggle for the night, and if it had not been me, she often “asks” for me from a kid’s room hours later.

Last night the other side of my bed was not unoccupied. My daughter was settled into Chris’s old spot with a cadre of stuffed animals. She still finds it a treat to sleep with me and when she asked on a vacation night, I readily agreed because I know these days are numbered. It was a regular girl’s night with that 65-pound coonhound mix cuddled between us. It was every bit as crowded and cozy as you might imagine, with the dog and girl alternately resting directly on me as they both took deep and slow sleep breaths.

In the wee hours, I woke and couldn’t get back to sleep immediately. Phoenix was still right up by our heads, so I stroked her silky ears a while. In her sleepy state, she rolled on her back for a belly rub; I could see her long legs sticking up ridiculously as I petted her tummy and chest. Eventually she tired of my attention and stood up, did her signature full body shake, then strode to the end of the bed for more room and privacy. She began that animal routine of turning around several times before lying down. She paused unexpectedly in her circling. Just as my brain was forming the question of why, Phoenix burped loudly. She then circled once more, harrumphed as she flopped down onto the bed, and nudged me even closer to the edge.

I shook my head in the dark and laughed.

No, this is certainly not the life I had and loved.

This is the life I have now, and it is full of many good moments and much love.

Like a phoenix, I am rising from the ashes. There is no other option but to take steps forward and make a new life, bit by bit. I am doing it.

 

I Am Enough, I Choose Me

 

For the better part of two decades I’ve worn a pair of sapphire studs in the piercings closest to my head. Next to those, I wore a smaller, cheaper set of zirconium studs. Walking farther out on my earlobes, I used to have a third set of matched piercings and a fourth on the left side, the tiniest signals that I was a normal teenager determined to rebel in some small way. Once I had a tenure-track job, I let holes #5-7 close and stuck with the two evenly matched pairs of studs. I thought the look suited me and my plain style, and it was convenient to rarely change my earrings.

The sapphire earrings matched my engagement ring, chosen with Chris in the fall of 2003. What a happy day that was, wandering through Boston jewelry stores feeling like the happiest fishes out of water. We only had eyes for each other and our future. I was drawn to a ring with a plain white gold setting featuring a central oval sapphire with small diamonds flanking it. It was pretty – the blue was my color – yet not pretentious. He later returned to choose this ring from a few we liked and gave it to me weeks later, upon my return from spending Christmas with my family. A few months after that, Chris covertly selected the sapphire studs and presented them to me to commemorate our wedding.

Unfortunately, I lost one of the earrings not long afterwards as I was waiting for the train in the Kendall T station. It was the winter after our wedding; we had been bundled up for a cold walk from lab but then were sweating as we waited on the overheated platform for the train, which was late. I remember removing my winter hat and feeling the earring tear away from the backing, knowing with sickening certainty that it landed down by the rails. I saved the remaining lone stud for years. It was later fashioned into a charm for a family necklace my mother commissioned for me – the main pendant is a silver bar with the names of my children, Chris, and me engraved, one name on each of the four sides.

A few years after this debacle, my dear friend invited me to be a bridesmaid in their wedding party. The dresses were chosen individually, each a blue color; I selected a royal blue satin dress. It was a wonderful wedding – so full of happiness and love. As a token of their appreciation, the couple gave the bridesmaids earrings, mine a pair of sapphire studs. How delightful for me that this commemorative gift was so similar to my own wedding gift from Chris! Placing those studs in my ears felt right, and I rarely removed them in the decade plus that has passed.

Once, I lost a stud for a few weeks. It eventually turned up on a tiny ledge of my bed, the random surface formed by an uneven placement of the top mattress on the box spring. I remember my relief at snapping the earring back in its rightful location. Sadly, I lost one of the earrings again a few weeks ago. Despite my valiant efforts, it has not been recovered. So here I am, stuck with my cheapo zirconium studs and nothing classy to wear next to them.

Does it even matter? Perhaps my ears should be stripped of jewelry. After all, I no longer wear my beloved rings. After I removed my rings from my finger, I added our wedding rings to that family necklace and wore it religiously for a long time. Then the chain began to tarnish and leave marks on my neck, and I couldn’t keep up with polishing it. Halfheartedly, I researched a replacement chain but abandoned the search without a purchase. I ended up retiring that family necklace alongside my engagement ring in its original gift box, now yellowing with age (how can that be…).

Just like the tarnished chain and the yellowing box, I am also showing my age. My unadorned hands look plain and old. My hair has quite a bit of white coming in – I like to think it’s from the stress, but perhaps it would be my genetic destiny regardless of circumstances. I’m no spring chicken, and certainly not a fancy nor fashionable one. Perhaps the season of sentimental, pretty jewelry is over for me.

And yet.

And. Yet.

I am still here.

I am still breathing, still trying to move forward, still striving for connection, still living.

And, as a living, somewhat normal person, I miss those studs. They were perfect when Chris gave them to me, then the other pair was perfect when my friend gave them to me. There were different meanings behind the gifts, but both were heartfelt, thoughtful, and they suited me.

Do I not get to have nice things because I do not have a husband or another man in my life?

Am I not enough on my own, just as I am, to deserve a pair of nice earrings?

Goshdarnit I am enough.

I am deserving, especially after this incredible load of crap thrown my way followed by a pandemic, making me more alone than ever.

(What’s that quote? Oh yes. Stuart Smalley aka Al Franken. “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.”)

There is nobody left to know me in the way Chris did, to quietly notice the things I like or need and surprise me with them. No flowers. No upgraded tech. No respite care in the form of takeout arranged when I’m tired, preparation of kids’ lunches, or cleaning of the kitchen. It’s all entirely up to me, and the responsibility of running the house and family weighs on me. I don’t particularly enjoy it; I am too often stressed by it.

It’s up to me, though, to eek enjoyment out of life. What a waste it would be if I just suffered through the rest of my days…

So, I searched for sapphire studs in the covid way - online. This would not be a break-the-bank purchase; it’s a gift to myself slightly nicer than junk jewelry that won’t make anyone in my town jealous. It is not because I need the earrings as a connection to the past. Yes, that is nice, but they looked good on me. They did indeed suit me and my lifestyle. I thoroughly enjoyed those earrings and I want a new pair. The only thing preventing me from having them is choosing to prioritize me, to opt to spoil myself, to recognize that I am enough, just as I am.

I do not need a man or anyone else to give me jewelry.

I chose me and ordered the sapphire earrings.

I am enough.

I choose me.

 

Twin Invasive Vines

Much of our property is rather wild and unwanted plants routinely encroach on the cleared yard. Years ago, Chris built a stone wall to define the perimeter of the backyard. With help, I later installed a makeshift fence to allow the dog a space to safely run and play. The yard itself needs serious rehabilitation - the grass is thin and of poor quality, weeds easily take over, and there are large patches of dirt in the dog run. Still, we love the yard and use it hard. The area beyond the barrier is woodsy and fully controlled by invasive plants: poison ivy, poison oak, thorny bushes, and woody vines that climb up trees. In the spring, as the earth warms and plants wake up, these nuisances are first to grow and hardest to remove. They thrive on the metal mesh fence and eagerly reach over to poke us.

I started clearing behind the fence early this spring to get ahead, but it is a tough battle. No matter how many vines and stalks I clip back, there seem to be just as many a few days later. If I let my guard down, pesky, sharp thorns dig in wherever they can get a hold. My approach this year is slow and steady, a few hours of work each weekend. As I carry out this work alone, nagging lines of thought bubble below my consciousness. I notice two themes, like twin invasive plants threatening to choke off healthy processing and growth. If I allow them to run rampant like the thorny vines, they can ruin an hour, a whole day, much of a week, or more.

…

The Poisonous Vine of the Past

I didn’t know what to do.

How was I supposed to know what to do?

It was unbelievable and terrifying; there was no script.

Why didn’t I ask more questions?

I didn’t even know what to ask.

Why didn’t I hire more help?

I didn’t know what was needed or available or how to get it anyway.

Why wasn’t I more loving?

I was horrified, scared, in disbelief, stressed, paralyzed.

Why did I leave?

I should have been there for that whole day, laid down in that hospital bed for every possible moment.

How was I supposed to know the end was imminent?

I should have known; it seems so obvious now.

 

…Wrapped Around Healthy Wood of the Past

What was I supposed to do, anyway, about any of it?

Nobody can know what to do in these situations. There is no map. You do the best you can.

I did the best I can.  

 

AND

 

The Invasive Weed of the Present

I don’t know what to do with my life.

How can I move forward in a meaningful way?

I don’t know how to take care of our house.

How do people know what needs to be maintained?

I don’t know what will make this okay for our children.

Are they okay? Will they be okay?

I don’t know how to redeem our story.

What possible good could come out of what happened?

I don’t know how to be unworried.

What am I not preventing that will go wrong next?

I don’t know how to be happy.

How can I ever feel joy again?

I do not have any idea what to do.

 

…Threatens New Growth

What am I supposed to do now?

Nobody can possibly know what to do in these situations.

You chart your own path. You do the best you can.

I am doing the best I can.  

I will keep going.

…

 

Just as I do in my yard, I will be vigilant about the intrusive thoughts. I’ll carefully cut away those thorny plants to avoid piercing my skin. Once severed from the root, I will let the weeds wither where they were once gaining strength. Later, I will gingerly pull the dead unwanted vines away from the healthy supports. They will grow back, sometimes even with a vengeance, but I’ll remove them again as needed. The growth beyond the fence will become junglelike as summer sets in, but I won’t let the poisonous stuff gain a foothold in the yard, my imperfect oasis.

The lesson I am learning is this - peace and healthy growth do not naturally prevail. They must be cultivated and consistently tended. The work feels endless. It is difficult and painful, and I often don’t feel like doing it. When I let up and allow the poisonous stuff to grow out of control, it creates a thorny minefield that is even harder to clear out. I am recognizing that it is my most important job to tend to my pain, to grapple with the thorns, to be as gentle with and encouraging of myself as I would with a friend. I am trying to do this work.

I am doing the best I can.