It Rains

We've had a little rain in the last month and things are green again. It's amazing how resilient grass is! The trees still look bedraggled, and we may lose some poplars, but the cows are happier. They have been content to graze on our land now that things are juicy, so we've had no more escapee incidents. Their ribs are still showing, but hopefully they'll fill out fast. 

Because of the rain, the summer-long burn ban was lifted just in time for an impromptu camping visit from my in-laws. Camping without a bonfire seems wrong after all. We had a violent thunderstorm the first night, but the second night it cleared up for the tent camping crowd. The weather couldn't have been more pleasant for fishing, picnics and such that day.

It's raining again today. A steady, straight rain... windless, peaceful. There is no thunder, just the soft striking of drops of water on the surface of everything, just the pattering of droplets in the guttering. It is fitting.

My husband called me from California this morning. He's been gone since early Sunday morning. He informed me that he missed his flight. His alarm went off, but he was so tired he slept through it for over an hour before it finally woke him. So now he'll be returning in the middle of the night instead of at the children's bedtime. But really, that was the good news- that he got to sleep in.

Because... he also informed me that the wife of a work acquaintance of his had died suddenly last night. She'd been undergoing tests since January for flu-like symptoms, but was as yet still undiagnosed. In fact, the "most scary options", as she put it, had been ruled out already. It did seem that she had a heart condition, but she didn't make it to the appointment with the specialist. He found her collapsed next to her bed. She is dead at 46, and leaves behind a beautiful 4 year old son, along with her husband and many friends. Having been a musician and a politician, many were touched by her life. 

I was one of those people. Her death is a heavy burden on my heart. I can't say that I was a close friend. I can't even claim that I was really a friend of hers at all. We simply knew each other. She passed my old house in our little community's annual parade and called out her personal greetings. Her husband even came to a party at that house once. She and her spouse had sent me "friend requests" on Facebook, so we knew what was going on in each others' lives to some degree, posting comments on each others' status updates sometimes. 

I ache for her small son, for her already burdened husband, for the trail of heartache she leaves behind. I pine for a life cut short. 

I am also sobered by the abruptness of her death. Too many of my peers have died or had health problems lately- addiction/psychological problems too. I've reached that period in life where the deaths of my contemporaries are not from freakish tragedies, but rather from our failing bodies, our susceptibilities. Who will be next, which friend, which loved one?

I find my mind now scurries down those rabbit trails of thought that tempt us after tragedy. What if my husband never comes home? What if his stressful job and long hours contribute to a stroke or heart attack? Merely imagining his loss causes great anguish and anxiety. He encompasses my entire adult life. I really can't imagine my life without him. For over 15 years he has been my all.

And then there's the practical side of survival without him. How would I support 5 kids? What would I do about their education? How would I pay off the house, the car? How would I navigate my children through their pain while dealing with my own? (Yes, I know... life insurance. Well, it's been in the works for some time, but isn't yet completed. It's difficult to schedule a physical when you're as busy as he is. And even with life insurance, it would still be terribly difficult.) 

A father is a rock on which a family is built. My kids behave differently just knowing my husband is in the house. They behave better. It's not because he is a great disciplinarian. It's because they know he loves them. They are comforted and feel secure just knowing that Daddy's home. When he's gone, none of us are quite ourselves. And they take his absence out on me.

Or what if I die? What if my "milk of calcium stone" causes renal failure? What if my high cholesterol causes a stroke or aneurism? What if I die in childbirth? What would become of my children? I guess everything that I do can be done by someone else. My husband could pay for childcare, enroll my kids in school, hire a cook and maid, take the laundry to the cleaners. And if their needs were met by someone else, would my children even miss me or remember me? They don't seem to have much thought for me now. That's what moms are for, to take care of you. You take them for granted. A mother's love does not demand reciprocation. Thirteen years of interrupted sleep, nursing children around the clock, changing diapers, preparing and cleaning up from meals 3 times a day, an endless string of laundry, the endless cleaning up, the never-ending preparation, administration, and evaluation involved in their education... I lead a hidden life for my family. Because of that, I don't have a large circle of friends. I don't have the time to! Those touched by my death would be few. Does that matter to me? 

What about my husband? How would he be affected? Like I said, what I do for he and the kids could be done by someone else. He spends most of his time at work, working from home, or lost in thought about work. He doesn't have much time to think of me now. He wouldn't have much time to think of me if I was gone. Would it only hit him in the morning rush or in the evenings when there was no one to listen to the daily run-down, no one to get the kids ready for and into their beds, no one to warm the bed next to him? It's a sad thought, but not terribly unrealistic. Besides, he could remarry. He's got a successful career, is a good financial provider, has many qualities appealing to marriage-minded women who love children. And he has all his hair! :) 

When a college friend died earlier this year, I pondered death a fair deal. I still agree with my previous thoughts on life that were included in a blog post I wrote after his funeral, but I no longer have the same aspirations for my own. I knew at the time that I had unreasonably ambitious desires and I said as much. I also said, "I hope that when my 'time' comes, I will have touched as many people as he has. I hope that I will leave a trail of lives touched by love. I hope that love echoes and reverberates long after my life, not so that I am remembered, but so that there is more love and less pain in these difficult, beautiful lives that we lead." 

While I would still love to lessen pain and spread love to many beautiful lives in this world- and think that a noble desire, today it seems to me that my echoes and reverberations will simply amount to a ripple. I am too small and insignificant to reach as far as I would like. It seems that there will be no "trail of lives" that I leave, just a family that grieves. I am one who will probably slip silently and nearly invisibly into the afterlife. And I'm learning to deal with that. 

It is humbling to think that I am replaceable, that my passing on would affect so few. But it's prideful to care I guess. Do I really want to leave a trail of grief behind me when I go anyway? Maybe it's better to sink secretly away, unnoticed after all. 

However, if the net of love I cast can't be wide, I hope that it is at least deep. And I hope that I don't spread any hatred, vindictiveness, or malice inside or outside of my little circle. Let my life instead be full of steadfast dedication, compassion, unselfishness, prudence, fortitude, and forgiveness. Succumbing to a small, deep pool of that would be nothing to be ashamed of. Even that is ambitious I guess. But as that line in the Patty Griffin song goes, "It's a mad mission, but I got the ambition."