Division of Labor

Any loss is difficult; every loss is different. I can’t imagine the loss of a child, nor have I experienced the loss of a parent. I’ve lost friends and mentors. And I’ve lost my life partner.

Every loss requires a period of adjustment. Of realization that everything about the lost relationship has changed. Over the last 22 months, I’ve realized that I’ve missed Sami sentimentally, emotionally, physically, and practically. And I’ve begun to understand that the new denominator in our division of labor is one, not two. The numerator - the day-to-day as well as the big tasks - has stayed the same. Maybe even increased. There’s at least as much work to be done; there’s only one person to do it.

I know I’ve written about some of this previously. During our 33 years of marriage, Sami and I had a somewhat fluid arrangement in terms of managing our household. Sami did most of the grocery shopping and cooking. I did most of the yard work and gardening. Sami managed our finances; I made sure we had enough firewood to make it through the winter. I managed our sheep and the land they grazed on; Sami took care of the bottle lambs.

Sami also took care of our equines and our dogs. Over the years of our marriage, we had six horses, one pony, and two mules (my daughters may correct my math!). We had at least 21 dogs (some pets, some border collies, and some livestock guardian dogs). Sami took care of their veterinary care (since she was FAR more qualified than I was). And she took care of buying hay and scheduling the farrier. She kept track of which dogs needed rabies boosters.

In the last 22 months, I’ve made lots of adjustments. I’ve necessarily done all of the food shopping and cooking. I’ve paid the bills (almost always on time!). I’ve changed the bed, done the laundry, swept the floors, and dusted (occasionally) the furniture. I’ve moved to a new house.

Last weekend, my oldest daughter and her boyfriend visited from New Mexico - their first time seeing my new place. Lara said, “Your house is really nice! I love how you’ve arranged it and decorated it - it doesn’t look like a bachelor is living here!” I’ll admit to some degree of pride! Lara and Micah also helped me with a number of projects that took more than one set of hands (and one brain) - I finally have an outdoor clothesline and steps down to my garden!

The hardest - and last - adjustment that I’ve had to make, though, is in caring for our mules, Frisbee and Boomerang - and for my dogs. Because we had our own mules, Sami had a reputation of being a veterinarian who would take care of long ears - mules and donkeys. In the year after she passed, I leaned on her (our!) friends to help me take care of their needs. Sami’s colleague and friend Dr. Becky Childers gave the mules their annual vaccines in 2024, and made sure I had heartworm and flea/tick preventatives for my dogs. Our friend and farrier, Eric Enos, trimmed their feet in 2024. Our friend and my colleague, Dr. Rosie Busch, made sure I had the prescription medications I needed for our sheep.

My dogs - especially my puppy Ky - have been challenging over the last year. Ky found some rat poison Sami had put in the garage in June 2024 - and she spent a couple of nights in the ICU at UC Davis as a result. This spring, Ky found a month’s worth of Mae’s arthritis medication - which one or both of them devoured, resulting in two more nights in ICU for both of them. Thankfully, they both seem to be doing fine today! Also thankfully, I had the financial resources to pay for their treatment.

The last frontier, though, has been the mules. Now that I’ve moved to Calaveras County, I’ve had to find a new veterinarian. Earlier this month, a local vet gave both mules their annual vaccines. Since the vet was a woman, Sami’s mule, Boomer, was reasonably behaved.

I suppose I should say a bit about Boomer. He’s always been a one-person mule - as long as that one person was Sami! He distrusted all men (including me) - in Auburn, I could rarely get close enough to catch him, let alone put a halter on him. Here in Mountain Ranch - with only me around to feed and care for him - he’s finally allowed me to handle him. Sometimes.

Today - finally - I was able to have a farrier out to trim their feet. Farriers - and veterinarians - are understandably reluctant to handle mules they don’t know. Knowing this, I’ve had considerable anxiety about their veterinary and foot care. I woke up anxious this morning - and my anxiety increased as the day went on. But the farrier was great - we got both mules trimmed without any excitement. And I realized when he left how much I’d been worried about this day.

This evening, I’ve realized that some of what I’ve taken on since Sami’s passing is just part of living and running a household. The laundry must get done. The food must get purchased and cooked. The house must get cleaned. But some of what I’ve taken on is a choice. I’ve kept both mules - even though I haven’t ridden or driven either one since before Sami got sick. Keeping the mules is a decision - they’ve been an important part of our family’s life - and an important reminder of Sami. But with this choice comes responsibility - and I understand this evening that this responsibility has weighed heavily on me. Caring for the mules was always Sami’s job. Now it’s mine. In a new place. I’ve had to rely on people who don’t know me, who didn’t know Sami, and who don’t know our mules. No wonder I’m exhausted this evening.