Sitting for a Year

In my family my sister is the memory-keeper; she will say things like, “Do you remember going strawberry picking up on the hill?” or, “Do you remember the parade where we were all dressed up in costumes so and so made?” No, I do not hold these events of childhood. She was much more present than I was, and so I borrow from her storehouse those relics I need.

I am a slow learner; losing people we love is part of life, but I am still so shocked, swept away and overwhelmed by their departure. There are no satisfying answers to my difficult questions:

~When will I see him again?

~How is he doing?

~What if things could be different?  

My heart goes to accusation because I am not a memory-keeper, I am an “I am not enough, I should have done more” taskmaster. My heart holds the hurt because I have no container for the memories shared, they are shadows of past years that haunt rather than help me.

Maybe I could borrow a page from my sister’s book:

“Well, Diane, we did the best we could.”

“Don’t you remember Mom making pies and taking us to pick berries?”

That memory, though borrowed from my sister, has grounded my whole life.

For 34 years I have picked berries, made jam and pies. This year, interestingly enough I didn’t pick the berries because I have been sitting for a year.

Remembering my brother with such sadness and even helplessness.

I have felt lost and alone, I just did not have the heart to walk the berry fields alone.

Ever felt like that?

Even so, this past weekend I found myself in New Jersey visiting our adults (how can we call them adult children? It is an oxymoron 😊)

We picked peaches. My heart is mending. With 40 pounds of peaches.

Be sure to allow yourself time to grieve. To feel, to be, and to remember with kindness not accusation. Your heart will thank you.