Monday, September 17, 2012

Things Will Be All Right...

It never fails... something sad happens, and at some point I look around and notice that nothing stops. There is a sense that traffic should not move, that people should not shop, and when they look at you they should recognize the change, the sadness touching your heart... but of course everything moves forward, even when we feel halted, fixed in our disbelief. I even tried to pass the days as though nothing did happen, filling up the time with activities and busyness, recognizing that happy events, and funny moments were there to appreciate.

The chicas are still hiding nests. The goats are still after the roses. The tomatoes are still ripening on the vine. Dishes still find their way to the sink...

I am sad about our Flopsy bunny, and I am sad about what we do not have, what I did not prevent. And I even feel awkwardly apologetic... as though three days is enough to reflect and grieve, and now it's time for something new, something cheery. Like, we cannot mix our daily lives, and new plans, with what happened, with the sad business of all night vigils, a pet dying. On the flip-side... I hate to move on, as though making plans, smiling, could possibly mean I think less of her, or am too easy going.

Well, I think I am going to let things slide and mix, and crossover. It's a simple act, a healing deed... to let the good mingle with the hurting, to let some light shine on the aches and longing. It's honest, really. I wash the dishes, pick the tomatoes, then sigh. I look for hidden eggs, shop, too... and sitting in the garden, leaning against the barn, I have a cry.

Thank you. Everyone who shared their caring words and kindness with us, you really gave us comfort. It's reassuring to feel that understanding and sympathy from so many. Have I thanked you? Yes, one more: Thank you.

I leave you with a favorite song, from a favorite band... Hang on Little Tomato, Pink Martini.

The sun has left and forgotten me
It's dark, I cannot see
Why does this rain pour down
I'm gonna drown
In a sea
Of deep confusion

Somebody told me, I don't know who
Whenever you are sad and blue
And you're feelin' all alone and left behind
Just take a look inside and you will find

You gotta hold on, hold on through the night
Hang on, things will be all right
Even when it's dark
And not a bit of sparkling
Sing-song sunshine from above
Spreading rays of sunny love

Just hang on, hang on to the vine
Stay on, soon you'll be divine
If you start to cry, look up to the sky
Something's coming up ahead
To turn your tears to dew instead

And so I hold on to his advice
When change is hard and not so nice
You listen to your heart the whole night through
Your sunny someday will come one day soon to you


Tami @ Lemon Tree Tales said...

Oh no, I really thought that Flopsy would hang in there and eventually get better. Poor little bunny. She was well loved while living at the barn.

judy in ky said...

I think you have handled this quite well. The sadness came through in a very thoughtful and kind way. Maria's letter to Flopsy was so touching. I still feel sad when I think about it. You can take as long as you need to grieve, but I'm glad you have so many other things to balance it out and to be happy about. (Did I dangle a preposition there? Oh well.)

Becca :: Making Room in Sicily said...

Sorry about your sweet bunny! Losing anyone, any pet, anything, always rocks normalcy for a good long time, and that's perfectly okay. This is from someone who is grieving a lot of loss lately. Take your time!

Miriam said...

A lovely post - thank you for sharing your heart with us.

Unknown said...

Lovely, just lovely. Heartbreak is a funny thing and it's not the same for every person, we all grieve differently. Good for, you're doing what's right for you.

unschool said...

Trying to catch up, but I can see that there's been a terrible trauma and loss for you all. I'm so very sorry about Flopsy.

Janece said...

I understand this. It's something I've thought about before in my own periods of loss and grief. There's a part of me that feels like I should apologize or feel like I'm being overly self-indulgent for not being "done" with my sadness and grief. I think part of it is because our friends and family love us and while they would love to say otherwise and if asked admit that it isn't what they wish for... they *do* want us to be done grieving too. Why? Because they love us and want us to be happy. Because they don't know how to simply be *with us* while we are sad. We aren't taught how to be with the hurt in our lives or others - or the best we are given is tools for trying to "fix" it. The sadness of loss and the grief that follows just aren't fixable. And, that's okay. You are right to take the middle road and mix and mingle the process. It's in these moments that we are our most human, most vulnerable and while it seems like it shouldn't be so - our most beautiful.

I happened upon my Flopsy photo today on my computer - she's on her back, in my lap, with her fabulous fuzzy feet pointing up to the sky. I cried. And I only knew her a little bit...

I love you!

Jenny said...

I always find it so surprising - that the world goes on after a death. It shocks me every time. And then I feel reassured by that fact too. Like everything IS gonna be alright.


Kim said...

I'm sorry to hear about Flopsy passing; I thought she'd make it. I understand what you mean about letting the sad and the happy mix and I think it's a good idea. That's life in a nutshell isn't it? I hope Maria is doing OK.

aka Jules said...

I too know the feeling of needing to be overly apologetic for something that could have been prevented. It still hurts sometimes even when we look forward. hugs!

Jennifer said...

As we have learned over the years in our own journeys through unspeakable sorrows: we hold our sorrow, at the beginning, in two hands -- it fills and overflows the space we have to carry it. slowly but surely, in that inevitable movement forward of time that you mention, we do need to shift that sorrow to one hand. we still hold it, we still carry it, but we keep one hand open for joy. keeping one hand open for joy is what makes it possible to truly move forward; it does not mean that we grieve any less, that our grief is shallow, that our hearts are black and our losses meaningless. it means that we are still alive, and making the best possible use of each day, which is to be open to and revel in joy. it is good.