After an early heavy snow, followed by higher than average temperatures, we’re now in a deep freeze. Later in the week, the temperatures will get above freezing, although only fleetingly.
And then all too soon, it will be time to work out in my yard again.
I enjoy these months of respite from the struggle against weeds and sun-dried grass, but I miss the daily gifts — the flowers that come up despite this harsh climate, the volunteer plants that so tenaciously take a stand, the perennials that stretch their territory. I do get a flower fix with paint-by-number kits. It’s not the same as real gardening by any means, but it’s a real boon to someone without an artistic bone in her body.
Oddly, what I don’t miss is writing — about gardening or anything else, for that matter. For almost three decades, writing (and blogging) was my life. It kept me going during the long years of Jeff’s ill health and in the dark times after he died. It gave me a reason to get up in the morning, gave me a focus that I might not otherwise have had. In fact, because of this blog, I went on excursions and attended events I might have passed on, but I figured anything I did gave me a topic to write about.
So did my desire to stay at home squelch my desire to blog? Or did my lack of desire to blog squelch any desire for venturing out? Silly questions. Silly because the answers don’t matter. I’ve become a homebody, and that’s it. My being a homebody is not surprising since I’ve always had reclusive tendencies, but what is surprising is that I have a home. And a garden! It still astonishes me that this place is mine. In my restless years of grief and its aftermath, I spent a lot of mental energy trying to figure out what my unshared future would be like, and never once did I come close to imagining this reality.
I remember back then occasionally thinking that my future should be wonderful, because if the pain of grief was something I never knew existed, then there had to be some joy to come I also never knew existed.
And now here it is. And now here I am.
Of course, that raises a conundrum that I try not to consider: the only reason I’m living this particular good life is that Jeff is not here. Still, the last thing Jeff ever said to me was that everything would work out for me, so I know he’d be pleased for me. And yet, there’s that niggle in the back of my head that I try not to think about.
But those are thoughts for another time.
Today I’ll think good thoughts and be grateful for all I’ve been given.
***
Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.
Bertram's Blog 
January 20, 2025 at 6:12 pm
Beautiful painting Pat. I really like the way you write and consider every aspect of life in its complexities.
Your grief blog was tremendously helpful to me. I lost my beloved soulmate 2 and a half years ago. Yesterday a meditation teacher told me to “let go of the past” and to stop living with a phantom. I was deeply upset. Talking to his spirit and thinking of the good times we had has been helpful to me. Sometimes, I talked to myself just like he would talk to me.
My mother was a great gardener . I do not have a garden in my nyc apartment but I have plants and flowers. I buy flowers regularly to put in front of his photo and offer them to him, even if he is not here in person.
A little orchid given to him by a neighbor during a brief remission blooms every year. It is in bloom again.
I too have become a home body. There is much more work when alone than when two people share tasks and I want to make my environment as pleasant as possible.
Thanks for writing.
Noelle
noelle.carruggi@gmail.com
January 21, 2025 at 8:48 am
Your meditation teacher was wrong. He’s not your past. In a different way than he was when he was alive, he’s your present. It’s important to keep talking to him, especially since it brings you comfort. I still talk to Jeff sometimes. Still tell him about my day or mention events he might have been interested in. It’s been long enough for me — fifteen years in a couple of months — that I no longer fool myself into thinking I am talking to him (If he still exists somewhere, I sure hope he has something better to do than to hang around listening to me), but since I’m such a homebody, it does help to verbalize my feelings. Do what you need to. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about how you feel or what you need to do to keep going. Besides, at two and a half years, you still have a year or two to go before you find a sense of renewal in your life.
I’m glad my grief blogs helped. It helped me to write them.
Take care of yourself.
February 3, 2025 at 6:06 am
Quite right Pat, I’m still talking to Helen. I was talking with a friend yesterday who lost her husband a couple of years ago, and I was struck once again about how it’s the same old story. She’s just hit the “it really hurts now” stage, and finds (of course) that the people around her thing she must have “moved on” by now,
Hope you are doing ok, and glad you’re still doing a little blogging! Warm regards, Treve
February 3, 2025 at 7:58 pm
I’m doing okay. I hope you are, too. And oh … it’s good to hear from you. One problem with blogging so little is that I don’t have the connection with people I once did.
January 30, 2025 at 3:40 pm
Thank you for your really comforting response, Pat. This really resonates within me « he is not your past, he is your present” . Clear insight.