I am strong until I am not

The busy schedule of the farm provides a facade of strength.

This facade is fueled by business – busy doing this, busy doing that- all that business cloaks a sense of loss that never subsides.

I’ve spoken in previous blogs about the big ball of grief in the jar and in the beginning, there is no room for anything else in the jar but the ball. Life after is about making the jar bigger – knowing full well the ball is still there with a gravity of its own and a power that never wanes….

One just learns to navigate around the powerful sphere and open up more of the jar.

The rhythm of the farm and harvest of chicken has its own level of busyness – the crew, the work, the lunch after.

 I am the leader of this crew that makes LBF what it is. A small but potent outfit set on quality. Something Cathy Jacobi imprinted on all of us.  

Today at crew lunch we had some new folks with us. One of the team members asked - “hey boss, what is that card taped to that picture in the dining room? “

I looked at it and without hesitation started to share the story.

In December when we were losing Cathy and had pretty much lost her mentally - my youngest son Charles was consumed with his mother saying something to baby Penelope

 “Dad – If mom could say something, something she knows Penelope would appreciate years later – she needs to say it & you need to capture it.”

I had my mission.

For days in Vanderbilt when there was a glimmer of presence I would talk to Cathy:

“Baby – if Penelope were here what would you want to say to her?”  You are leaving us sweety - what do you want her to know? what do you want to tell her? “

 This was so unfair. Cathy’s delirium demons guarded her gates of understanding and would not let her out.

One day – a nurse came in – she was a big black beautiful woman with a huge personality ………She was perfect for Cathy.

One night I showed a picture of Penelope to the nurse in front of Cathy ………… and she came to life  -

“ That is my baby girl Penelope “ and if you touch her …..

You could see pride and joy on her face. – a moment of love shared the only way she could through the demon gate guards of her consciousness.

For a second we saw her before the gates closed,

We saw her love; we saw her passion for her only grandchild that she would never see grow up – a pain that must have tortured her more than any of us know.

That night I made the card – captured each word for Blake… for Penelope.  

You know the rest of the story.  Cathy died 6 days later at home with me holding her hand. With the card taped to the picture in the dining room – a room that had been converted into a care center for Cathy in her final days.

…… the card watched over us through death

…. The card remained through goodbyes

…. The card remained through picking up the pieces and eventually the dining room being reset.

………and it remained still through today when some innocent person asked about it.

I told the story with confidence and strength until I had to read the words aloud in front of the staff.  

I folded like a dove. The great ball of grief pulled me into it’s orbit and tore away any façade of strength ……………

I found myself back there at her bedside again.

The pain of losing you baby never leaves me.

I miss you so. This house is so quiet without you.