Hello friends. I wanted to take a moment to share the past few months with you. Life has thrown us an unexpected curve. We lost my Dad of 28 years unexpectedly this summer after dealing with some things since spring. It threw us all into a tail spin and all of us went into survival mode. It was a loss that rippled across all of our lives and the most difficult of all was watching my children have to suffer as they did. Their hearts were broken and mine broke even more than I though possible watching my own children learn how to grieve and rebound from loss.
I didn’t pay attention to the garden. The chickens were tended to but not spoiled. Weeds sprung up in the flower beds and the lawn was not mowed. I forgot to pay bills, I didn’t feel like eating and sleep is still elusive. It’s been a little over a month. Time is helping.
Tears are flowing less and we are spending time laughing as we remember. My folks live only a few minutes drive away and we were always over at their place and vice versa. We went on vacations together and enjoyed Sunday night dinners. My children knew them from the very moment they were born and were held in their arms when they were mere minutes old.
I had a very busy summer planned. I was working on my third book, articles and speaking engagements. It all was put on hold. I’m glad I did. As I am emerging from the fog, this week. I am still tired and not sleeping very well. But something happened the other day. I heard the chickens calling my name. They needed me.
I journeyed over the the coop and suddenly realized that I missed these fluffy butts. Feathers were scattered everywhere and like snow in the coop, the floor was covered with airy puffy feathers. Molting season is upon us. How did we get to fall already? I pulled up a stool and perched myself with the girls. They seemed genuinely happy to see me. I could feel happiness in my heart and knew that this flock would help me to heal. I started noticing that despite the lack of care, the dahlias were smiling with big heavy blooms. Cucumbers filled the vines. Eggplants swelled a bit overripe and swiss chard sprang from the beds. I harvested all that I could. It was a bounty with the ability to sustain life. The garden and the chickens with their eggs were reminding us that they would care for us by nourishing our bodies and our souls.
Today is a new beginning. A new chapter with a new story to write. My dad is around us everywhere. Tiny little things I see remind me of him. I hear songs on the radio, see cardinals in my garden, hear his voice in my head, and feel big arms hugging me still on some days. I guess I just want you all to know that I am grateful for your support and love and if you are ever feeling sad about loss, know that you are not alone.