Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.
~ John Muir
Somehow this bee seemed the right photo for this post. I’ve been spending some time in a similar posture, feeling this grief deep in my gut, curled over upon myself.
Too, I feel like bowing in gratitude for the gift of my grandfather’s long life and his powerful, joyful, meaningful presence in my own. I’m so grateful that I got to be there with him even at the end. I like to think his peaceful passing was in part due to the room being filled up with his children, grandchildren, and friends.
So much love in one room.
Grief, too, of course.
What a strange water I navigate across now! I almost wish our culture still mandated mourning clothes, still recognized a proscribed dress code, so that when I am a little odd, when my social mask goes missing, when I cannot do the polite public face at all, cannot pull it out of me for even two minutes’ interaction with a stranger, people would say to themselves, “Oh, well, it’s normal, she’s in mourning,” instead of maybe questioning what else might be wrong, whether I’m a cuckoo anti-social walking around their town, or whether they, themselves, have made a misstep.
So far, it’s peaks and valleys, like everything else. My Uncle Michael nodded sagely and whispered that in my ear yesterday, when I tried to describe for him how I was “holding up” through the process. I guess I’m not surprised. The very structure of the universe seems to be these waves, and here I am experiencing them again.
Sometimes I even forget for a moment. The night before the funeral, I cut my right thumb and palm, badly, on broken glass (yet another reason blog posts may be scarce for a bit). I’ve avoided touching the wound as much as I possibly can — but then I’ll just forget, and do something to make myself cry out from the pain. This morning I grabbed the broom to sweep the kitchen floor, a perfectly normal activity, and nearly bit through my own lip on the first stroke, as the deep cut reopened itself from the pressure.
I think it’s something like that. It’s just normal to forget. It seems Granddaddy must still be here because, well, my definition of “world” includes him in it, and so that is the default setting I revert to.
And then I remember.
I’ve been putting off writing this post partly because it makes it seem so real to put it here, in black and white — and partly because I really don’t know what to say yet. Sometimes it feels like I’m floating, or in a dream, moments from awakening. How could I possibly write a coherent post from within this strange, otherworldly place? (I’m most likely not. Oh, well.)
Yet surely I must share the news properly, not just as a small update within the last post. That note doesn’t show up in RSS feeds or Google Reader, and I’ve gotten several e-mails now, wondering what happened, asking how I am.
Well, this is what happened: Granddaddy passed away on Sunday night. I think his death was as “stingless” as a human death may be.
As to how I am, just typing that last sentence makes me go all hollow inside. (Maybe the stinger got lodged in my heart instead?)
Nature and the garden, as always, are solace. The tough part is that the last communication my grandfather and I had together was about my garden, and so much of our time together over the years revolved around our mutual love of Nature, of growing things, revolved around our joy in helping to birth food from the Earth — and all the attendant trials of the process. He used to say, with his characteristic, barely-there, mischievous wisp of a smile, that it was a relief at least one of his grandchildren was a farmer by nature. I was so glad — and so fortunate — to be that one.
So my great solace also now contains a thousand references to my great sorrow.
The plants now hold flowers, fruit… and memories.
Namasté, y’all.
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“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.” I’ve always thought that was a beautiful and true quote which was taken off a headstone in Ireland.
I’m so sorry, Meredith. I’m so glad your grandfather had his family around him. I wish I could say something to ease the pain, but there are no words or any I type feel inadequate. My thoughts and prayers are with you at this difficult and painful time. Please take care of yourself and be careful of that hand.
Talon´s last blog ..Moments
Dear Meredith, I am so very sorry. Always remember that the dead do not really go away from us as long as we continue to talk about and remember them.
Edith Hope´s last blog ..In the Garden of a Duchess
Dearest Meredith, I’m not very good with the right words…but I wish you gentleness with yourself and your feelings. I think your little curled bee is a beautiful image to go with a post about the man who you loved so much and is so interwoven with your gardening.
Heidi (GippyGardener)´s last blog ..Spring digs her toes into the earth
You express so perfectly what it is like in the aftermath of a loved one’s death. In the days after my father passed away, I remember thinking how odd it seemed that life just went on around us as if nothing had happened. You have been in my thoughts, my friend, and I wish you peace in the coming days.
Namasté, Meredith.
Lynn´s last blog ..Fort Peace- twinkle and fragrant
N so the world is forever changed, as tho an entirely new planet to live upon.
Fortunate you are to have loved so long, to have known him well, n learned.
But tough it is to dwell on loss. I know the loss of grandparents, parents, and dear Aunts n Uncles myself.
Now my siblings n I share the distinction of being the oldest generation of our line- The sages of our offspring n their offspring- One day it’ll be our turn.
We can only hope to be loved so well, n known so well at that point, ourselves!.
I hope the pain of your loss turns more into the gain of a fonder heart to pass along before long-
Sincere Sympathies, n Prayers for you
SnaggleTooth´s last blog ..Grey Daze
A line from a song that always comes back to me when I hear this sort of news.
“Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we once had shoulders smooth as raven’s claws.”
Take care
The Idiot Gardener´s last blog ..Mother- now youre gone I treasure these few things
Dear Meredith: I am so sorry for the loss of your grandfather. He clearly meant the world to you. I believe the garden in particular will help you heal, because it’s a monument of sorts to him–a special connection between you. I wish I could ease the pain for you, but I don’t think that’s really possible. We walk the paths that we must walk. It’s a good sign that even in your sorrow you have seen beauty in death. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
Kathy´s last blog ..Its the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Beautifully expressed, Meredith. My father died in March and I was saying “yes” to myself – “yes, that’s the way it is” as I read your post. My heart is with you as you grieve. I especially agree with you about mourning clothes. I’m afraid our culture isn’t comfortable with mourning and it wants us to be over with it as quickly as possible. You may be interested in the series on grief that Meghan O’Rourke did for Slate: http://www.slate.com/id/2211257/entry/2211256/
There are nine entries about the death of her mother and about grieving – very moving. I keep going back to it.
Ginny´s last blog ..O brother wind- air- clouds- and rain
I’m very sorry for your loss, Meredith — I’ve lost both of my grandfathers over the years, and it still stings, just a little, to remember. But remember the joys you shared, your mutual love of Nature, and when you feel that soft caress of a late summer breeze on your cheek, close your eyes and know that it’s your Granddaddy’s hand, assuring you that this pain will pass. Let all those wonderful memories sustain you. Wishing you peace. This was a wonderful tribute to your grandfather.
Nancy Bond´s last blog ..Skywatch Friday – Aug 27- 2010
A tribute to one
from the love of another
Still my eyes did leak
No words do I have
for the love you had
you two shared so deep
So just take care
of the love you shared
for my eyes still leak
desk49´s last blog ..If Love was Death-
I’m so sorry for your loss, Meredith.
*big hugs*
Kyna´s last blog ..Dont You Mind People Grinnin In Your Face
Meredith, I’m so sorry to hear about your grandfather’s death, and I know you must be missing him terribly. But I also love the quote from John Muir, who I think got it exactly right. One of the gifts that gardening and love of nature provide for us is an understanding of the circle of life. Your grandfather lives on through the love of nature and the knowledge that he passed on to you.
One of my favorite books, Laurel Thatcher Ulrich’s *A Midwife’s Tale,* a social history based on the diary of an 18th-century Maine midwife, ends with these words, which always make me smile even as they bring tears to my eyes: “Martha did not leave a farm but a life, recorded patiently and consistently for twenty-seven years. No gravestone bears her name, though perhaps somewhere in the waste places along Belgrade Road there still grow clumps of camomile or feverfew escaped from her garden.” Hugs. -Jean
Jean´s last blog ..A Year of Jean’s Garden- Taking Stock- Making Changes
Hello Meredith,
I would first like to say that I am so sorry for your loss. I am glad you were able to be with your grandfather at the end…..I was able to be there when my dad died unexpectedly and it although there was crushing grief, it was peaceful. Someone once told me the grief is the tax we pay for loving people once they are gone. I will pray that you will experience God’s comfort during this difficult time
Noelle / azplantlady´s last blog ..An Almost Empty Vegetable Garden and a Bounty of Seeds
Meredith, I’m so sorry. But know your grandfather is still here, with you, as part of you. You are who you are, at least in part, because of the gifts he was given you throughout your life. He will always be with you, and especially each time you plant a seed in the garden, he’ll be standing beside you in spirit. Your continued love of plants, animals, and all things nature will be the lasting tribute to the love you shared.
Curbstone Valley Farm´s last blog ..Coast Range Fence Lizard
You are loved sweet lady and through you and nature, we remember and honour your dear Grandfather.
Nicola Karesh´s last blog ..Sweet India
I’m so sorry to hear you lost a beloved grandfather, and so glad to hear how special he was to you. You are lucky to have known him well into your adulthood!
Laurrie´s last blog ..I garden- he mows
But how glad and proud he must have been to know that you nurture the family heirloom beans. I am sorry for your loss.
Will you get someone to stitch your hand, if it is a deep and still open wound?! You need those hands. To write and to garden …
Elephant’s Eye´s last blog ..Winter August flowering into Spring
Meredith – I’m so sorry for the loss of your grandfather. It’s true what people say about time. It sounds like you and your grandfather had a special relationship and I’m glad you’re able to carry on his passion for gardening. No doubt there will be a thousand memories, but one day the hurt will be less.
Wendy´s last blog ..WYG and pepper jelly
I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m very glad of your memories and the love of nature you shared with your grandfather. Those things you will carry with you always. Hugs.
lisahoglden´s last blog ..Adventures in Real Parenting- Whos Stalking Our Kids Online Why – Its Us!
That is truly a beautiful posting Meredith. Tearful, real and a poignant reminder that we are all gardeners of others. All I can offer is that to feel is human, to have hollowness is human, to mourn is human and to just be whom you are right now is the most wonderful gift you could give your grandfather. Go to the garden when you can and be with him, grow with him in your heart and life will show you the stepping stones into the future. Namaste.
Philip Cushing´s last blog ..Take the path into the wild
((((Meredith))))….I am so very sorry for your loss. I know from reading your blog for some time now that your Grandfather left an indelible imprint on your heart so will always be with you. Memories are such precious things ~
Loving and healing thoughts to you and your family ~ xo
Serena´s last blog ..Ive joined a Portrait Party
Dear Meredith, I wish I knew my grandfather(s) for so long! I never knew my Dad’s father and I barely remember ny Mom’s father. You had and you still have what I and many others never had. You are the lucky one! I am so glad that you were able to be there, with him, and say Good bye. Take care, be happy – this is what our grandparents and parents want for us. Hugs,
Tatyana
Tatyana@MySecretGarden´s last blog ..Front Flowerbed in August
I’m so sorry for your loss. So lovely that everyone was with him. They say that when a soul crosses over while surrounded by loved ones it is easier.
Susie @newdaynewlesson´s last blog ..Some Things Are A Constant
Meredith, such a haunting image there. And such haunting words. Grief can be such a strange, otherworldly thing, can’t it.
Want you to know that you and yours are in our thoughts. Want you to know that we love that your love for your grandaddy rings out as clear as an early morning bell over the landscape of your grief. I suspect he’d be honoured by this poignant outpouring.
Blessings, M.