yield

Sat with tea this morning and stared at my tomato plants at the opposite end of the porch. I mean really looked...and this time really saw. And I had to laugh.

I've had some wonderful successes with growing tomatoes in containers, but this year has been pretty feeble. But I had no idea. What I was staring at were two "Sweet 100" cherry tomato plants, each bearing only one -- count 'em, one -- measly "tomat", as my grandmother used to call them.

I give up! I'll just have to call them "Sweet 1/100th." The plants themselves are spindly and sorry-looking and those two pitiful fruit are the only survivors out of what appear to be many dried up or fallen blossoms. Oh, well. I never really gave them what they needed, I guess, and I milked the "cool wet spring" excuse as much as I could.

"It is what it is" has been running through my mind and off my tongue for the past week...and now those tiny tomats. A disappointing yield for sure, but there they are -- two rosy, robust survivors and I'm betting that they are the sweetest 1/100ths ever!

emptying

I know that I'll be saying more another time, but just finished a week-long institute (National Center for Death Education) and the theme that emerged for me -- personally and professionally -- was "emptying."

Listening to others, I was reminded that one of my biggest challenges is to empty myself: to listen deeply and pay attention, following the flow of others' innate wisdom. It's sometimes easier for me with friends since there are no expectations, but I often go on alert in my role as facilitator. That can get in the way. I have to step aside.

Listening to one speaker, I also revisited a period in my life -- nearly 20 years ago -- and found reassurance all these years later. It involved the suicide of someone close to me and the complexities had ensnared me for years like underwater weeds. No need to detail that here, but if you want to learn more, check the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention or call 1-888-333-AFSP. You'll find resources there for survivors as well.

Listening to myself, I realized that I can more freely let go of some of those books I've rattled on about here (under the life-heading of "clutter"). What is emerging in my life needs room to grow or at least to be explored. It can't do that without making room for it in very real ways. So I'm less resigned and more enthused about plowing through the titles I've still held onto since my last major purge. It's hard for me to let go of good things, but someone somewhere needs them so who am I to withhold? I can often check my life simply by scanning the titles on my bookshelves but with some of those two-rows-deep now there must be things -- both inside and out -- that I can't see or don't need to keep any longer.

Did I say that I'd say more later? Enough. Funny how emptying can leave you satisfied...and full.

time warp

Can it really be that long since I posted here? Time feels like an elastic band, alternately stretching out and suddenly shortening with a snap. Some days it feels as though it's been months since things began happening and on others it seems like yesterday.

Perhaps it's more the fact that everything related to my mother's death happened at a distance. I found this to be the case when my dad died over a decade ago. My parents and I lived in different states and it was easy to imagine that it hadn't happened...that nothing had changed. Nothing associated with his -- and now her -- death seemed permanent or real because my life here looked the same.

However when Sunday afternoon rolls around now it's quieter because the weekly phone call won't be happening. Of all times so far, that's the day when the reality of it all sinks in...that and when I want to e-mail my mom to just check in or rattle on a bit about my own day. Even my inbox is emptier.

Not to say that I'm not back in the land of the living, so to speak, but in the quiet moments or when something that was routine only weeks ago is simply no longer that, I feel that emptiness that people talk about. It's a physical pang down in my belly where my grief and sadness reside. There is a space (in time, in my heart, in the world) that she inhabited that is now profoundly empty. Correction: in all but my heart -- that's busy missing her.

Next week, coincidentally, I'll be joining the community of the Summer Institute at Mount Ida College. The National Center for Death Education hosts a roster of experts each year for five days of personal and professional development and continuing education. There will be a place for me there among those who deeply understand. Not that others don't, but there will more listeners there. Those who work with issues of grief, loss, change and transition are no more immune to those realities than anyone else, but are sometimes more willing to simply sit rather than offer solicitous advice. It's an unusually comforting place to be and in good company.

and now

There is a difference between grief and mourning. The former is socially sanctioned by funeral leave policies and such, but the latter picks up after that and carries on.

For me the initial shock and pain morphed into all of the activities that accompany the first days and weeks of loss. Nothing new there: I'm my mother's daughter and know how to cope. So I coped.

Now I'm back and nothing is standing between me and my pain. Today as I packed a lunch, I noticed that things were going on as usual and just as quickly I also noted that nothing would ever be the same. Even as I type these words ten hours later, my heart aches.

I've decided to take it easy this week; I won't push through. There will be time for everything beginning next week. I guess I'm still morphing and that demands my care and attention right now.