It’s Simple, Stupid

Several months ago, my life splintered. I was forced to re-evaluate nearly every facet of what I’d become used to.

I lost my Grandma in February. She was not just Grandma, she was one of my best friends, and perhaps my biggest cheerleader. Toward the end, she wasn’t always the Grandma I’d always known, a brain tumor was weaving it’s way through her being. But she had some good days peppered in. Simply good days that we could really talk. I miss those days.

Shortly after losing her, my second marriage came to a screeching halt. There was a clink of a cell door behind him, the slamming shut of our book of life together by me, and the crying of our child keeping me awake through the night.

My garden out back went to seed as I muddled my way through the wreckage of so much in such a short time. I lost physical weight as I carried the emotional weight. I moved from my historic home in one state to a newer house in a different state. One I can maintain mostly in my own. I cut ties with many people who had claimed to love me, but could no longer love me after I slammed the book shut. The weight got lighter. It’s simple.

Yesterday was one of the best days I’ve had since the upending if the life I was used to. It’s simple.

I started my day packing lunch for my son. We talked as I packed it, him asking if my new tattoo of Grandma’s signature hurt, and me telling him it is healing. His crying is now gone, replaced by sounds of him laughing as he roars through the neighborhood that is surrounded by farms. He is healing too.

Before I dropped my daughter of at work, I went to the local coffee shop, sat outside with a friend, held a puppy for a stranger as she went inside to order, then had a tiny gathering on my patio as my new chicken coop was assembled in the corner of my tiny yard. It was enough to make me want to bake brownies. So I did. And I got lighter. It’s simple.

My kitchen table was full last night. Full of food, laughter, and parts of my standby tribe members mingling with the the new.

I’m gaining my footing again. I’m planning next year’s garden, healing, and writing some new pages as I listen to the whir of a farmer’s grain dryer. It’s simple.