by Krista | Dec 3, 2023 | Summer
“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.
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.
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.
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.
by Krista | Feb 17, 2023 | Summer
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.
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.
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.
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
by Krista | Jan 24, 2022 | Summer
I’m sitting in my office with one dog snoozing beside me and another stretching luxuriously on the veranda before she goes back to snoozing. I just finished the breakfast Bear made for me, my client work is done for the day, and now I get to sit a bit and watch the clouds roll in, dark and heavy with rain.
Today, as I acknowledge the myriad things I have no control over, I celebrate the choices I do get to make. They may be small, but they are powerful and I love them.
This week I’m waiting to see if I have cancer again.
Yesterday I had a biopsy and now, I wait, being gentle with myself as I float along the waves of fear and anxiety that inevitably come at times like this. I remind myself that I’m allowed to be scared because this is scary. I’m allowed to get a bit teary because this is hard. And then, when the waves pass, I’m allowed to hunker down into peace and find and create joy wherever I can.
This week I’m choosing to do the things that bring me joy: hanging out with Bear and our dogs, exploring nature, and reading new books that take me on vicarious adventures to Venice, Tasmania, Denmark, Ukraine, and England.
I love that even in our darkest times, we can choose goodness, choose the things that make the hard times easier to bear, and choose to let ourselves feel the yuck until we get through to peace. xo
by Krista | Feb 21, 2021 | Summer
My brother Evan died last week. It was sudden, horrific, and utterly devastating to his wife, our family, and all those who loved him.
For days I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Grief is like that. It snatches all that is easy and familiar and makes it feel impossible: breathing, eating, sleeping, connecting, laughing. But every day, somehow, I wake up and do those impossible things.
I try to link arms with grief, letting it have my attention whenever it demands it, catching my breath in the moments it releases its death grip on my heart. I see grief as my reminder that I have given and known love. If I hadn’t, grief wouldn’t be here.
I talk to Evan a lot. When I feed the animals and water the gardens; when I’m making dinner or can’t sleep at night. I tell him how much I love him, how much I miss him, and how angry I am at him for leaving us and breaking our hearts. I remind him of funny stories from our childhood, forgive him for the times he hurt me, and thank him for the ways he inspired and strengthened me.
I have two pieces of paper that I write on: Evan – Good Memories, Evan – Bad Memories.
Sometimes death drives us to elevate people to sainthood or heroism and I don’t think that’s honest or fair. We are all made of light and shadow, and to deny that is to deny the humanity that connects us.
So, as I remember Evan – Light Evan and Shadow Evan – I write those things down. Sometimes they’re things that make me cry so hard I feel like I will break in two, other times they make me laugh until I’m doubled over, tears of hilarity streaming down my face. Mostly they’re just little nothings, the simple, quiet things that made him, him. I’ve got light and shadow too. And I hope that when it’s my turn to go, my people will remember them both and love me still.
I recently read something Evan wrote about a particularly difficult time in his life:
“You know what though… I’m glad we went through that. The most unbreakable bonds are those forged in the fires of hardship and difficulty…Not being able to do all the things we wanted to do and dreamed of doing was exactly what we needed to evolve… it took away the external distractions of material things and activities and forced us to look inwards. It forced us to face the inner demons we avoided and address our weaknesses. We resisted at first, but then it became necessary for survival. We had to change our minds, we had to change the way we perceive things happening. Life is a never-ending succession of lessons to be learned…The inner work we put in will allow us to move on to the next lesson… let’s become life lesson experts together, let’s see every problem as an opportunity to create a solution… our own little life game we’ll play.”
These words make me smile because they are so Evan. In many ways, he was a hermit. He only had so much energy for people and then he was DONE and would have to skedaddle into silence until he was ready to connect again. Then he’d swoop in out of nowhere like a hurricane of love and encouragement and support, the best cheerleader you could ever hope for, brimming over with all the wisdom and affection he could lavish on you until he disappeared again. Like a burly Viking fairy godmother. For a long time that hurt me. It felt like rejection and abandonment every time he’d disappear. But then I realised it was just him, his light and shadow, and with understanding, came peace. I could be my own cheerleader, my own rock of support and love and encouragement. I could take those Viking fairy godmother moments from my brother and speak them to myself every day. I could take the pain I felt from his disappearances and make sure I don’t do that to my people. Just because I understand his shadow side, doesn’t mean I need to repeat it.
I love that Evan never stopped learning and growing. Ever. I loved our Viking fairy godmother chats because they were chockablock full of all the things he’d been pondering and wondering and thinking through in his hermit time. His last message to me was brimming with love and affection. He told me how proud he was of me for facing the traumas of my past and making a new, beautiful life out of the ashes of the old one. He was so happy I had found Bear and that I was safe and loved and had an amazing tribe of people who truly have my back. He never called me Krista, only Girl. “Girl,” he’d say, “You’ve got this. You’re amazing and strong and smart and creative. I love you and I’m proud of you.”
I can’t travel to the States for Evan’s funeral, so Bear and I are having a ceremony here too. Evan always wanted a Viking funeral, so we’re building a Viking longboat to honour him. I think he’d smile at that.
“Girl,” he’d say. “That’s awesome.”
XO
by Krista | Jan 29, 2021 | Summer
The wind is hurtling through the trees this afternoon bringing glorious coolness that made it downright pleasant working outside. Bear and I designed, cut, shaped, and sanded cutting boards for my Etsy shop today, stopping regularly for chats and cuddles with the dogs and basking in cool breezes in the shade of the shed. I love working with him and working with wood, getting covered in fragrant sawdust, seeing the wood grain come through beautifully as we sand away layer after fine layer. Soon I’ll find a comfy spot and sit down to wood-burn designs into each board, oil them with linseed oil, then wrap them in oh-so-cheery Christmas paper to send to clients around the globe. I know it’s a tiny thing, but it makes me happy to be able to turn a simple and practical board into something just a little bit magical to bring joy to folks as they chop onions for soup or mince fresh herbs to add to a salad. I think even little bits of magic or beauty can make the difficulties of life a bit easier to bear.
This week I had another wonderful kinesiology session with my dear friend, Kerry, and started physical therapy to help my lungs get strong and healthy again. It’s been over a year since I could breathe properly, but each week it gets easier and that delights me no end. Two weeks ago I was able to sleep through the night, last week I got to start exercising again, going for short walks before my chest started rattling and wheezing. Today I was able to work outside with Bear and there’s no rattling or wheezing!! Hooray!!! We’re big into celebrating small achievements over here, so it’s ice cream for all after dinner tonight.
Yesterday I was in town for a full day of meetings, so I packed a delicious lunch – smoked trout crepes and green bean salad with feta and basil – and drove to my favourite spot by the river.
It’s a gorgeous place, the riverbanks lined with wildflowers and lush, green grass and towering gum trees filled with hundreds of white cockatiels riding the branches swaying in the wind. It’s a lovely spot for resting and daydreaming and planning.
I love sitting there, my car pulled right up to the water’s edge, watching the river, the birds, and the grasses and flowers dancing with the breeze.
Normally, there’s not a soul there, but yesterday who should appear but my friend Kathryn! It was so fun to see her and catch up on the last few months and get excited about going hiking together again once my lungs are better. She leads adventure therapy outings all over the region – mountain biking, hiking, camping, the works. I love going adventuring with her and discovering hidden gems of natural beauty in the mountains and forests near us.
After she left I hunkered down again, smiling contentedly as I finished eating and spent time writing in my journal, reading a little, and looking out the window a lot. All of a sudden, all the cockatiels decided it was time to mosey along and the sky was filled with hundreds of birds, their white feathers brilliant against the green of the trees as they swooped and soared. Such moments are breathtakingly wonderful.
Eventually, it was time to return to work, but I returned with a light and merry heart, bolstered by wondrous nature and a chance encounter with a lovely friend.
Back on the farm, the sun is sinking lower in the sky. We’ve tucked all the animals away for the night with plenty of food and water, work is done for the week, and now we get to start the weekend.
Tomorrow there are fallen trees to chop for firewood, a new fence to build, and trees to prepare for planting down the driveway to replace all the ones we lost in the drought. But this evening we’ll rest, eat our celebratory ice cream, and watch a movie. It’s going to be a good weekend. xo
by Krista | Jan 10, 2021 | Summer
When I look outside today I can’t help but smile. There is green grass as far as I can see, across the farm yard, over the hills, and disappearing into the woods. New Year’s Day gave us the greatest gift – a deluge of rain. My joy and relief is deep, my gratitude unbounded. It was such a wonderful way to start this crazy new year, a vivid reminder that no matter how bad things get, the good will come.
I worked right up until Christmas Eve so I could have a proper holiday. Two full weeks of all the things that restore and rejuvenate: naps, good food, watching rain fall, reading books, coloring, and cutting out pictures and words for my 2021 vision board.
Creating a vision board each year has become a treasured tradition. I love removing last years images and phrases, smiling to myself at how they unfolded over the year in mostly unexpected ways, observing how much I’ve changed, grown, and learned, noting which values stayed the same and which ones altered. It’s such a good time of reflection, gratitude, grieving, letting go, then shifting into this new year with the dreams, goals, plans, and hopes I have now.
This year I put my vision board together on the day domestic terrorists broke into the Capitol in DC. Watching the horrible scenes unfold filled me with grief, anger, and a deep sense of helplessness. I let myself watch and feel and talk out everything with Bear, and then I turned away from what I have no control over, to something I do: planning the life I want to experience this year.
There are things I want to grow, make, build, see, explore, purchase, taste, and share.
I want a chicken that lays blue eggs, a potting shed with all my tools at the ready, and coffee dates with people I love, respect, and enjoy.
I have plans for hikes in the rain forest, camping in the mountains, cheese-making, and wine-brewing.
I’ll continue to study more about indigenous land care, history, and traditional medicine.
I want to get better at foraging and fermenting, learn how to make our orchards and vineyards more productive, and plant more flowers.
Some of the things on my vision board are obvious, but others are special secrets known only to me. Special things I’m treasuring until I’m ready to share them with the world.
The world may feel topsy-turvy, wobbly, and wonky, but we still have choices, so many choices that will make our lives, and the lives of our loves, so much better and easier.
What are some good things you’re choosing for your life this year? xo
