Looking back to Keep Moving Forward

Grief isn't linear.

Prothonotary Warbler

The sweet tweets of the prothonotary warbler’s song 

echoes through the black water swamp.

The echoes wrap around the shattered shards of my heart

and knit them together so that it may keep beating in my chest

and I will live on another day in this world.

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Yesterday, I fell into melancholia but for what reason I could not ascertain. I had awakened with a heaviness around my edges but it was Friday and the work week was almost over, yet, I could not drag myself there. I craved solitude. So, I took a mental health day.

I rode two counties over to try and do a little grocery shopping but once I was there, I struggled to make myself get out of the car. I sat in my car and basked in the warm sunshine we had been deprived of the past several days. I finally dragged myself inside the store and traversed the acres of shopping displeasure to gather my 16 items and place them in my reusable grocery boxes, scanning them as I went on the in-store app on my phone. When I arrived at the check-out, there was no QR code on the screen to scan and pay for my groceries. The clerk over the eight self-check out lanes was flummoxed that all my items were already scanned and all I needed to do was pay and go. She could not figure out what QR code I was asking about so she called a manager over who told me I would need to rescan all my items at the register even though I showed him they were already scanned on my phone. I have been shopping this way in this franchise for a couple of years and never had a problem until today for some unknown reason. In a fit of defiance, I dumped out my reusable boxes in the buggy, folded them under my arm and walked out the door. I got in my car and instead of shopping elsewhere, I drove myself to the swamp where my emotions crashed down upon me.

Why did this simple ordeal throw me over the edge so easily? Why did I feel the pull to the swamp? It’s been a rough couple of weeks at work and I had a calming art project I was working on down there. I sat down at the purple art desk and started adding doodles and marks to my project as I let my mind wander.

Earlier in the week, I had encountered a small kingsnake on my walkway. At first, I thought he was alive and looking for a place to warm up on the asphalt shingles. After awhile, I realized he still wasn’t moving and since the temperature was in the 40’s with the wind chill, I thought maybe he was brumating. Before I left, I created a safe place for him under a black plastic pot and placed several rocks atop it so it would not blow away. However, when I checked on him the following afternoon when it was warmer, I realized he was dead.

Small kingsnake on my asphalt shingle path.

When googling the symbolism in this encounter, I learned it is “generally a sign to move forward with confidence, having moved past a difficult, transformative period”. As the week progressed, I continued looking for signs in nature of the turning of the wheel. The forsythia at the farm has some golden frail and fragile blooms. The mystery snow drops in the swamp have shot up their sword-like greenery but no buds yet. My clearance rack amaryllis I planted in the house has revealed gorgeous crimson blooms that tower over my art spot at the farm. All of this to say—why am I low-key melancholy?

First forsythia blooms at the farm.

Back in the swamp after a spell of doodling, I decided to sit down and read through my journal to find inspiration for my Fall Farm Newsletter. Yes, I am that far behind but I’ve been finding it difficult to look back on this season of mourning. It seems too soon to do so. Like ripping off a scab of something that is trying to heal. It seems counterproductive to purposefully put myself back there right now when I’m straining to move forward every day, but I did it and that’s when I realized today will be six months since I lost my brother. Is my grief turning a page? It seems so much longer than six months since I’ve heard your voice, received a cheesy text, seen your goofy smile, or gotten one of your bear hugs. Life is moving on without you, but I think of you in a new way every day.

Michael (my brother) and I circa 1977 in the driveway with Grandpa’s ‘67 Chevy.

The grand boys, the future, two generations later, in the same driveway as the above picture.

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Thank you all for being here, for your inspiration, for your friendship, for your kind words of support, and for coming with me on this journey of words.

Blessings to all,

💜Becki💜