I've come to realize that - for me, anyway - the roller coaster doesn't end abruptly. Or even eventually. I seem to have simply temporarily switched over to the kiddie roller coaster. Slower. Fewer and lower climbs, fewer and less-steep dips. But still a roller coaster.
Sad and lonely Saturday morning. Sunny, cloudless, but crisp and unexpectedly cool.
A typical walk around the yard and garden, cup of tea in hand. The weeping cherry tree I planted nine years ago is now 25 feet tall and wide and absolutely splendidly covered in blossoms that float down like pink snow flurries.
The 250 hostas (my favorites - and the deers' favorite ) grow this time of the year at a rate you could almost see happening. The rows of peonies are two inches taller than just yesterday!
I cut back the bare Hydrangea trees just this Wednesday. Today, their leaf buds are the size of my thumb. The Lily-Of-The-Valley bed is dense with pips breaking the soil. Grape Hyacinths perfume the walk.
Bridal-Wreath Spirea live up to their flowing, snow white namesake.In the midst of the Lilac leaves are their promises of flowers to come.
Daffodils hanging on. Tulips just opening. Yesterday I could still see the house behind my backyard. Today, the row of Burning Bushes have almost obscured the view with just one day's worth of leafing out.
The Honeysuckle begins its slow choking conquest of the arbor.
It is all still so beautiful but now virtually meaningless. A visual delight that now just underscores loneliness. I am almost embarrassed to admit that this morning - for the first time in months - I am, quite simply and starkly, bereft.
I am unaccustomed to taking these early morning strolls, teacup in hand without my partner by my side holding the Dunkin' Donuts coffee that I would have just returned from buying for her.
There is no hand in my hand during this morning's walk, emphatically squeezing it with every, "Oh, look, Gardener! How beautiful!" There is no spontaneous cheek-peck as she says, "Thank you for all this, Gardener. You've made our home so beautiful!"
Where - where? - did she go? What happened to her?
I silently scream in my mind to keep the eyes from welling, wondering when - when - will I ever get mad, when does the rage come? The indignant rage at having been selfishly, senselessly, maliciously, robbed of so much?
I am totally taken aback and overwhelmed by being flooded like this this morning.
Is there a fine line or is it a wide, gaping area between the experiencing of and really feeling these feelings and simply wallowing in them?
I don't know.
It now hurts so seldomly, so rarely as time passes. But it still hurts. With a power that almost frightens.
I will be okay. I will be okay the day I no longer say, "I will be okay." On the day I say, "I am okay."
Gardener. Solo. But not Soaring.
Last edited by Gardener; 04/10/1003:43 PM.
Gardener
"My soul, be satisfied with flowers, With fruit, with weeds even; but gather them In the one garden you may call your own." Cyrano deBergerac
) grow this time of the year at a rate you could almost see happening. The rows of peonies are two inches taller than just yesterday!
