Sunday, July 29, 2012

Simple Sabbaths - Forget Me Not Farm

It's no secret that Hubs and I have been through the wringer over the last year. Things have been indescribably tough. Frankly, I'll be delighted to see the back of 2012 for many, many reasons.

When our daughter Violet passed away, Hubs and I went to live at my dad's house for a month. I couldn't face going back to the Little House that we had so lovingly fixed up, seeing the beautiful yellow and green "Very Hungry Caterpillar" nursery that Hubs had tenderly painted and decorated with the now-empty crib sitting in it. I couldn't handle seeing all of her sweet baby clothes that I had folded and refolded, organized and reorganized in fits of nesting. I simply couldn't face walking through the front door of that house, the threshold that Hubs had carried me over as a new bride, and feeling the House seem to hold its breath, as if waiting for the little girl to return that we'd carried in in a car seat just a few weeks earlier. As if she was just waiting in the car for us to remember and go grab her.

So I ran. Hubs and I had been planning to move into the Country House in the winter anyway, so we decided that it would be best if we just moved in earlier than planned and his parents (who own the house) were fine with that.

I ran fast and hard, away from my memories and my fear that I wasn't strong enough to handle the pain and the anguish and the numbness that would alternately assail me. Hubs packed up the nursery, all the tiny clothes and the toys and pacifiers and diapers, and took them over to my best friend's house where they remain to this day, in boxes. Waiting. Hubs got men from our church together and they packed up the house, my best friend and some of the ladies gently wrapping up our breakables in newspapers and tissues and placing them lovingly in totes so that they would survive the journey.

And I stayed home and cried. I just couldn't do it. I loved that house so much and so hard. I worked and worked to make it ours, to make it livable, to make it ready to receive our daughter safely and warmly. I worked to make Hubs happy to come home to it. At times I felt like I was the only one who loved it and I would apologize to it for that. I washed the windows and painted trim and vacuumed until the bag was full to overflowing. I dreamed of the gardens that I would plant and the window boxes I'd have Hubs build for me. I hosted my first Easter lunch there and the dinner where we revealed the gender of our first child to our parents there.

I just couldn't bear to say goodbye. And I still haven't. I can't even drive by it. I can't. What if the new tenants don't love it? What if they aren't loving it the way we did? How could they?

And I was feeling guilty about that. I would sit and feel terrible for not treating it better. For escaping the house that took us in when we needed to get out of our unsafe apartment. The house that I came to as a bride.

And I cried. A lot.

And then spring came. Beautiful, lovely, damp spring with the smell of earth and life and warm soil.

And the Forget-Me-Nots came up. 

Oh, they were so beautiful! And so unexpected! I had no idea they were there! One day they weren't and the next I came outside and they were literally everywhere. Blanketing the ground with shades of blue and purple and pink. 

And they made me think of this talk by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf and suddenly, just like that, we had a name for our little farm and I had some closure. I knew that we are where we're supposed to be.

For you:

4 comments:

  1. You, Gretchen, are amazing. Simply amazing.

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  2. I echo your other friends' comments. Love you! ~Roberta

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