“Keep taking time for yourself until you’re you again.” Lalah Delia

For a long time after my Bear died last year, I didn’t think I’d ever be me again. The day he died, I went into shock. The following days, weeks, and months are a blur to me now, a hazy memory of trying to breathe, making myself eat, and doing the farm chores with tears streaming down my face as I told Bear over and over, “I can’t do this, babe, I can’t”.

My brain couldn’t accept the fact that my love was gone, that the creak I heard on the back steps wasn’t him coming up from the shed for a cuppa and chat, the ring of my phone wasn’t him calling to see how my day was going, that his side of the bed was empty when I’d reach for him in the night. It felt like nothing would ever be OK again.

And for a while, nothing was. Things got worse. Much worse.

spring harvest

Drought ravaged the farm creating cracks so big in the soil that I could slide my arm into them. Dogs and a fox got into my paddocks and killed half my herd and I spent days burning bodies. “Shiny, Happy People”, a documentary of the cult I was raised in, came out, triggering horrible dreams, PTSD, and severe flashbacks. Bushfires raged, I was hospitalised twice, and a nightmare litigation ensued.

I told Bear, “I can’t do this, babe, I can’t.” And felt him say in return, “I know, darlin’, it’s too much, but you will.”

So, I hung on. And when I couldn’t hang on, dear friends propped me up and gave me the love and support I needed to take another step forward. I went to therapy, read everything I could about grief, and sat with my shadows until I could see them for what they really were – my greatest strengths and the very things I needed to get through this life.

My neighbour helped me repair the irrigation so my plants and trees could have a fighting chance in the drought, I rebuilt fences and gates and made them dog and fox-proof, and I took ownership of my situation and studied Queensland law so I could navigate the litigation to the best of my ability.

summer harvest

In time, things got better. Rain came at last, putting out fires, filling in the cracks, and turning the whole region a dazzling green. Wounded animals recovered, rebuilt fences have done their job, and I’m no longer afraid of or intimidated by lawyers and litigation.

Even more precious is discovering that even though grief doesn’t go away, the soul/heart/spirit, whatever you want to call it, expands and stretches and makes room for peace and joy and love too. They’ve squeezed in alongside my loneliness and heartbreak and despair until they’re all nestled together quite cosily, enabling me somehow to live again. The pain of Bear’s death will always be with me, but as I care well for myself and stay close to my steadfastly loving people, I find that it gets cushioned, its sharp edges softened.

summer vegetables

I understand now that I’ll never be me again, not the old me. She is gone. But I can be the new me, the now me, the ever-changing, never-give-up, plant-seeds-in-drought me.

I know bushfires will flare up again, drought will return, and I will lose people I love. Unkind people will need to be stood up to, animals will die, and life will go all sorts of wonky, but I will be OK. Now I know to my very bones that no matter what happens, even when I can’t do it, I will.