Springtime Already?!

Last spring, as we were adjusting to the realities of Sami’s glioblastoma diagnosis - to treatment schedules, symptom management, the possibility of enrolling in a clinical trial at UCSF, and to preparing our home for Sami’s eventual incapacity - I wrote that time was not behaving normally. This week - nearly seven months after Sami’s passing, time continues to operate inconsistently. Last night, as I was walking back from the barn after feeding the mules and gathering eggs, I realized springtime was quickly approaching (indeed, it was already here). The days are again getting longer. The grass is growing. The ewes are finished lambing. How could all of this be, with Sami gone from the world?

As I look back at the seven months without Sami, I’m struck by the paradox of feeling like I’ve been incredibly busy while standing perfectly still. After Sami passed, I helped Emma move back to Idaho to start her junior year of college. I went to Sonora twice to see family. I drove to Siskiyou County to help a colleague with a workshop. I filled my deer tag in Colfax. I traveled back to Moscow for Emma’s logging sports competition, and later to Las Cruces to see Lara. We planned and held a Celebration of Life for Sami, and then went to Monterey for Christmas. In the new year, I traveled to Denver, Moscow (again), and Sparks, Nevada. I turned the rams in with the ewes in September, harvested my finished lambs in October, and lambed out the ewes in January and February. I bought a sawmill and started learning to use it. During that timeframe, I also worked on setting Sami’s financial and business affairs. Thankfully, the estate planning we’d done made this job easier, but I still needed to meet with attorneys, bankers, and accountants (not to mention DMV) during the fall months. This week, I reached out to our CPA about our 2023 taxes.

I’m normally very in tune with the changing seasons. I always look forward to the first day in August that feels as though fall is approaching. The day I turn the rams in with the ewes feels like the first day of the Sheep New Year - followed shortly thereafter by the appearance of Sandhill cranes flying south. As late September gives way to October, the cooler nights make me think of hunting. The shorter days and longer nights of November and December mean Christmas and the Solstice are approaching; my tradition of maintaining my wood-handled tools on New Year’s Eve makes me feel like I’m ready for a new year of working outdoors. And lambing usually coincides with the northward return of the cranes. 

Looking back now, I feel like the seasons changed without me this year - disconcerting and reassuring at the same time. I noticed all of these things, I think, as they were happening, but I feel a bit like I’m waking up again after sleepwalking my way through winter. Also, while the list above suggests that I’ve been busy, I feel like there are many chores I’ve been avoiding. Last weekend, I finally cleaned the far side of the dining table, where all of the leftover cups, plates, and supplies from Sami’s Celebration had been sitting since December. The desk in the kitchen, however, is still a disaster - piled high with unread books, notecards, and hats that I’ve worn off and on all winter. The garage is similarly disheveled.

Some of why I kept so busy over the last seven months, I suspect, was a way to avoid feeling sad. On the other hand, I realized this week (again) that I’d been grieving since late January 2023, when we learned that Sami had a mass on her brain. In my cleaning frenzy over the weekend, I found the pocket notebooks I’d kept during Sami’s treatment, along with a notebook that Sami kept early on in the process (while she was still able to take notes). Glancing through these, I realized how heavily the uncertainty and anxiety weighed on all of us. Perhaps what seemed like sleepwalking has really been my internal processing of everything that happened to us. Rather than observing the world around me (which has been a lifelong habit), I’ve been reflecting on my internal landscape.

Recently, this inward focus has resulted in some external brain fog, I think. I find myself missing meetings, or mixing up dates. I know I’ve been a frustrating colleague because of this - I’m frustrated with myself. But I seem to need to look inward at the moment, sometimes to the exclusion of anything else.

Indeed, much of my inward focus has been on reliving the 202 days between Sami’s first symptoms and her eventual passing. While we were living through that period of time, I was concentrating on one crisis after another - surgery, recovery, another surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, doctor’s visits. I’m realizing now that my introspection is part of my process of making sense of what just occurred.

As I was considering whether to accept a job transfer back to the counties where my family lives, my sister told me she thought I was courageous for even considering such a move. At about the same time, a bereavement counselor provided by Hospice suggested that making big decisions within a year of a loss like ours was inadvisable. Last week, I read that “courage is the ability to experience fear but not be overwhelmed by it.” As I’ve thought about these last few weeks, I’ve decided that I don’t feel particularly courageous. While Sami was sick, I simply tried to do what needed to be done. Now that she’s gone, I’ve simply tried to put one foot in front of the other. Some days I succeed; some days I don’t move at all (or at least I feel that way).

Late last week, I spoke with the counselor again. We talked about the concept of moving forward versus moving “on” from grief. I know there are people in my circle who think I need to move on - but (as I’ve written often since last August), moving on from 35 years of relationship doesn’t feel right to me. My relationship with Sami will always be part of who I am - in working to move forward, I feel like I need to be able to carry that part of who I am (and who we were) with me. But I also realized last week that I’m still searching for direction - in which direction does “forward” lie? I’m hoping that my move to be closer to family, to a job that allows me to refocus on my curiosity and teaching ability (rather than my administrative responsibilities), will provide some direction. In the meantime, I am trying to enjoy the signs of spring - the daffodils blooming and the lilac buds swelling, the sounds of nuthatches in the blue oaks when I take my morning walk, the gamboling lambs in my sheep pasture. Some days this is easy to do; some days I still fail to see these things entirely.