Still Here

I've been a little quiet lately on this blog. Afraid to write the same old, same old I guess. Although, with that said, I do feel things have shifted a little bit; there are fewer tsunami waves crashing me to my knees, there is a bit more acceptance of the fact that he's truly gone. I think the sweat lodge I did in September may have done some bigger healings for me then I could imagine then ... or perhaps even now ... but perhaps it helped to catapult me a little further down this rocky road. I don't know.

Nights are still difficult. Sometimes I'll watch t.v. until I fall asleep in front of it just to prolong the act of going to bed ... because that is when all the demons show up. I take a homeopathic medicine to help calm them down to size and sometimes it helps.

There is so much to do around this house - piles of things that accumulated over the 2 years of Jim's illness that truly need to be gone through, or just tossed. I get overwhelmed so easily still. I attack something believing I have the energy for it and I just burn out too quickly. So I make a new pile from the old pile, or move the old pile to a new location - not accomplishing anything really, and then have to go lie down, or go outside where I get more energy. I can move wood or chop kindling easier then file papers. But I can't seem to get into the garden and do what needs to be done this fall. I use to love it when Jim and I would go out there together and rake leaves, cut down the old plants, get the yard looking right before the snow. Doing it alone just has me realize how fall is the season of things dying.

Yes, I'm still here and sometimes I can't understand why. Sometimes I just have to wonder, why him? Why not me? What is it that I must still accomplish? I can't imagine as I seem to not be able to accomplish much at all these days.

I went to hear Greg Mortenson, the author of the book Three Cups of Tea, speak at USM last night. This man has been building schools for girls in Taliban controlled territory. Inspirational almost comes close to how this man effects others. And as I looked at the pictures and heard the stories all I could think was how this was the kind of work Jim would document, this was the kind of good that Jim was called to do, and did so well.

I can't imagine why Jim is not here doing his work that the world needs right now. So I stop since I never will understand this.

I hear my crows on this gray, wet morning. I know they see me sitting here and I know they wait patiently for me to step outside to feed them. My little family of black birds.

Yes, I'm still here.

Loving you all back
Mary