I haven’t been here for a long time. My beloved Bear died suddenly in October after a brief and brutal battle with cancer. My world collapsed that day, and I needed to pull my borders in close and care for my grief-stricken self.

I read once that grief cannot be fixed, it can only be tended. So, I’ve been tending to my grief the best I can. I give it all the space it needs, all the time and support it needs, and room for any expression it requires. No shame, no guilt, no judgment, no deadlines, just all the love, compassion, and patience I can muster so I can find my solid ground again.

After Bear died, I found an email he’d written me in response to the overwhelming fear and grief I felt at trying to imagine a life without him physically in it.

“My comfort is that, god forbid, should I precede you, I will leave a lady so in control of her destiny, so content in our love, that she will change what she has the power to change and rise above what she can’t. In this, I will give you the means to step up to the next stage in your life.”

I’m not ready to write here about his death and my grief. Maybe one day. But I am ready to gently ease my way back into the world again, slowly stepping up into this next stage of my life carrying with me the sure knowledge that Bear is always with me, my biggest champion and dearest love.

bowl of flowers

I treasure another note from him:

“My spirit is with you now, my love, and you know I am never too far away. Always a state of together, no question, just are. Two hearts as one.”

Those words are my comfort each day as I grieve the loss of physical Bear and breathe in gratitude for his spiritual presence that reminds me I am not alone or abandoned but always loved, always cared for, always supported. It doesn’t remove the grief, but it does ease my way through life.

After Bear’s death, I tried to hold my shattered heart together and find something, anything to help me keep living. One morning the grief overwhelmed me and I curled up in his big armchair and sobbed saying, “Babe, I can’t do it. I can’t find a purpose, I can’t find a reason, all I can see is pain.” And then I felt these words from him, “Darlin, what if you don’t need a purpose or a reason? What if you just get up each day and do something good and see what happens?”

I stopped crying and just sat there awhile. What if I don’t need a purpose or reason? What if it is enough to just do something good each day? It was the first time I could see a way forward, a glimmer of hope that perhaps I could survive this.

So, each morning I wake up and say, “Good morning, Bear!” and remind myself that I am safe and loved and supported. I have a cry if I need to, then get up and continue our tradition of a big cup of coffee and watching the sun come up. Then I figure out something good to do.

plate of tomatoes

In the beginning, those good things weren’t much. The grief was too all-consuming to do more than the bare minimum of feeding animals and keeping plants alive and making sure I drank water and ate something and kept breathing.

But, as I adjusted to the understanding that death only stops physical life, it doesn’t stop love and connection, my brain made room for more and I was able to find good things to do not just for the present, but for the future.

I re-potted native edible plants we purchased for the food forest we planned, cuddled the eight puppies Bear’s dog gave birth to on New Year’s Day, picked and dried elderberries to put in the cordial blend I plan to sell at markets again one day, and harvested bundles of lemon verbena and lemon balm to dry on the back verandah for the workshops I hope to teach again when I’m ready.

elderberries

I’ve mended fences, fixed broken water pipes, and coated the steps and verandahs with layers of Danish oil to keep the wood in good condition.

Sometimes I work alone with only our lovely dogs for company, while other times dear friends stop in to give big cuddles and fix machinery, help me figure out how to redo the irrigation system, or collect fallen trees and branches for the burn pile after epic summer storms make a mess of things.

Sometimes I do my good things with a peaceful heart feeling dearly loved and connected to my luvs, but others are fraught, laced with loneliness, sadness, and wondering what the point of it all is. And both reactions are OK. All of it is OK. It’s possible to be heartbroken and full of love at the same time, to be terrified of the future but delight in Bear’s favourite nasturtiums blooming, to feel hopeless yet grateful, lonely yet connected, purposeless while creating purpose by doing something good no matter what.

I don’t know what my future holds, but for now, tending my grief, doing something good each day, and loving myself, my loves, our land, and our animals is enough. xo