Grief Tomatoes

 It's the deadliest year since 1918, and the toll continues to rise. It's difficult, surrounded by death, not to think about the dead. 

Summer 2019 hit us blow by blow. Neighbor and neighbor, grandmother then grandmother, unborn nephew rounding out the season. 

We hardly had time to recalibrate before the next assault to normalcy. 

The first two deaths were heralded by the celebration of growing things. That's what I remember most. In our little cottage at the top of the cliff, we were surrounded by neighbors who watched my husband's garden grow. 

Miss Jo would text me pictures of our sunflowers from her front window; she reported to me nearly every day with their outrageous height you could see from the end of the block. 10 inch heads of pure sunshine on 12 foot stalks. We sat on our driveway harvesting their seeds as we watched the ambulance at their home for the 3rd time that week. We stayed sitting until the paramedics came out, and we asked about her status when they did. Her oxygen levels were failing. It wouldn't be long. 

Robert next door was such a private man. He and his wife slid in and out of their life on Gunter as deer in the morning. They remained in utter stealth until the tomato garden bloomed beside their front entryway that second summer. Robert told us of the gardens he would plant in his youth. He began to stay longer and longer on his way in and out, telling us more about his youth, travels, family, and, when we would ask, his health. He had seemed to be gaining strength until his fall. It was as though the breaking of bone unleashed all the cancer cells back into his body. Rather than ambulances, it was the parade of visiting family's cars who signaled us to the end. 

We kept gardening. 

We gardened as the family came and went, saying their goodbyes to our friend, their uncle/father/cousin/brother. We gardened and didn't know what to say to them, if anything. It was them who talked to us, though. Each family, without fail, wanted to tell us what a wonderful garden we had. They talked about what a wonderful garden Robert used to have. They commented on what a crop of tomatoes we had in store. Robert loved tomatoes. 

There is a comfort in growing things, a balm for grief I can't explain. I have seen the hope a sunflower brings a dying woman. I have seen peace replace sorrow in the faces of bereaved as they let the vines of a tomato plant transport them back in time. 

Growing things bring color and expectation. Growing things bring distraction and demand attention. Growing things remind us that the future brings fruit we can only dream toward right now. 

We brought Miss Jo's widower sunflowers, not knowing what else to do. We brought Robert's widow our lily and a bag of our first harvest. She wrapped herself around me and cried. 

Sometimes, when you don't know how to grieve with someone, all you can do is share what you know of their joy and hope it plants a seed. 

My Phone is Off, and You Don't Need Me: A PhD Student Life

 Since 2014, I have been "on." 

What felt like every second of every day, I was checking my email, my texts, my work app texts. While this was partly self-imposed due to a paranoia that I would miss something, it was also very much expected that I would respond. That paranoia was confirmed, as those who did not respond immediately were chastised. Everywhere I looked, everywhere I went, I was surrounded by eyes and expectations. 

Being a salaried employee is wonderful and so secure, but it can go down a big hill on a little tractor so fast. There's a sense of ownership that comes alongside a steady paycheck that is inhuman. 

I even answered emails on my honeymoon. I answer emails at 1am in my bed. I answer phone calls in dead sleep two hours before the workday starts. I am dependable. 

I tried to create boundaries in my life, but after a certain point, where life begins and where work begins becomes so convoluted that you lose where you are in the world, outside of your worth to the system as a whole. 

My husband, in his kindness, allowed me to put trust in an opportunity. I left my job. The release was not immediate. Halfway through my graduate assistant orientation for my PhD program, I felt a sudden surge of joy when a meeting ran long: I work 20 hours a week. When those 20 hours conclude, c'est le fin. Time taken in one place is deducted in another. 

My mornings since the beginning of August have been spent drinking coffee with my husband in the soft sun of the morning. We cook lunches together before parting for our separate office spaces upstairs. Though it will soon be dark when we conclude our work projects, we will have been able to spend the best part of the day and the best parts of ourselves with one another--not the war-warn exhausted shells we have been able to give over at the end of the days. 

There is such joy in the freedom to learn. I can give of myself freely, but I am at no one's beck and call. I am not so naive to deny that a PhD might very well be brutal, but I will not deny the intensity of the freedom, the joy, the release that I have been granted so graciously. 

Nurturing Orchids

Before she left our work and moved to Germany, a friend entrusted her desk orchid to me. It is purple-speckled, lovely, and the sister to my own dual-colored orchid.  

When she gave it to me, I didn't know that I would also join her in leaving our workplace just a few weeks later. Her orchid moved from my desk to my piano at home to the garage when it dropped its flowers and was unpresentable for staging to the floor of a sunroom when it came to Tulsa months later, then, finally, to my new kitchen's terrarium window. 

Orchids are fickle friends. When loved well, they are generous, abundant in their blooms. Three ice cubes a week and gentle sun are what they want. Too much or too little, and they wither and fall to pieces. 

My own orchid gave us 12 blooms this early summer until an ant infestation led to de-soiling, re-potting, and a heavy rinse. The leaves have all dried and fallen, and only 2 blooms remain. 

Tabitha's plant has only remained in our family out of determination--it has been brown and gray for months with no sign of life. Still, each week, three ice cubes are added in with hope. 

Almost a year later, it has regrown a full four huge leaves and is nubbing out for re-growth of a stem. Buds and flowers will follow. 

My orchid will survive with the same determination, but its speed of growth and vibrancy is what drew the predators. What we thought was so strong was being eaten alive below the surface. At this stage, the plant we had taken for dead is the stronger and healthier by far. 

We don't know the roots for the blossoms. Assumptions of strength are mere assumptions and not determinations. All that we can do is be patient, remain consistent with encouragement to grow, and act to protect when enemies make themselves known. 

Policies and People: How to be a Good White Person?

Once, for a job, I had to tell a transgender person that the policy of the place where I worked was to live by their birth gender. 

I said this after talking to this person for an hour. 

I said this after a year of knowing about this person but never having spoken to this person before. 

I said this even though this person did not disclose being transgender to me. 

I said this because I was told to say it. 

I still feel ashamed. That's not what love looks like. 

You see, there are people and there are policies. You can have a policy, but you can't treat people like policies. I did not know them. By speaking out against them, I betrayed their trust, I made them feel afraid and defensive, and I demonstrated judgment. And I just don't think that's what Jesus would have done. 

Jesus led through relationships. He created change through relationships. He opened doors for difficult or awkward conversation through, you guessed it, relationships. 

By having that conversation, I did not communicate love or understanding. What I communicated was that a group of people had been talking about them behind their backs and had sent me as a spokesperson. I, a stranger, knew one of the most personal qualities about them. And, by speaking out against that quality without a relationship first, I nearly guaranteed myself that I would never have a relationship with them. I saw the pain in their eyes. 

I feel that same shame now. Navigating people and policies is so difficult, especially when you have close relationships on all sides of the spectrum. 

I have not been in any way hidden about my sentiments toward our current leader. Those sentiments have not shifted toward the positive in the past four years. In fact, his behavior, his tweets, and his constant fire-poking toward increased hatred and violence have only pushed me further into the political sphere when I once was not in any way interested. I have seen the impact on all ages, as his language use and behaviors validated voices of hate and made them socially acceptable. 

Hear me, these sentiments were already alive and well, but they had not previously been given an allowance to be communicated aloud without condemnation. The impact was immediate--I saw it wash over my small town, and I see it here in my larger city. I see the influence of those behaviors on the day to day of his people. 

Voting for him on a one or two policy ballot is irresponsible and dangerous, as the effects of his humanity are widening the gap of our country. It actually does matter who a person is in their real lives, especially when they broadcast a constant spew of hate and violence speak in such a non-stop, public way. Yeah, guys, his twitter really does matter. You may believe in God using unholy people for holy purposes. He is not creating holy outcomes. Not at all. 

This weekend, he has chosen to come to visit Tulsa, Oklahoma for the largest indoor even since the beginning of the pandemic. It is the 99th anniversary of the Tulsa Race Massacre, and tomorrow is Juneteenth (Freedom Day). Many Republicans (and family members) have claimed that this date selection was done in ignorance. His tweets suggest otherwise. 

This decision caused another tense internal debate between policies and people. This rally is in the midst of a second wave of virus reports, this rally is on an extremely important African American holiday, this rally is in the midst of race/police brutality protests all over the nation. My policy, as an introvert and someone who wants to be socially responsible, is to avoid large public gatherings. However, my humanity calls for action. I cannot be another Millenial to claim I care and allow that only go so far as to post online about it. But how do I prevent him from using a peaceful protest somehow in his favor? How do I avoid the violence which may be incited by his trigger-happy behaviors and the equally trigger-happy behaviors of his aggressive followers and white supremacists? How do I show up without somehow making the equally heinous Millenial mistake of acting only long enough to get the photo op or make something very much not about me, about me? How can I speak out without drawing attention to me and not the issue? How do I be an ally? How do I be a good white person? 

After a week of massive backlash, he moved his rally date to the day after Juneteenth. 

I told myself that it was only that which made me worked up enough to entertain the idea of attending a protest. But I don't think I could live with myself if I stand on the wrong side of humanity on this one. Remaining silent is to be complicit. It's to communicate that his behaviors, his lies, his location choice, his calculated language use as it relates to race and riots, and his presence in my city during a pandemic, national crisis, and grim anniversary, is acceptable. It is not acceptable. 

The policy is free speech. But that policy is being abused and manipulated to allow a stampede of the people. It flies in the face of our African American groups here, to the families of victims of Greenwood, and even of the health and safety of his followers. 

My sentiments have marked me as an extremist to many members of my family. In conversations, I immediately alienate myself. But Jesus threw tables in the temple. He cracked a whip, in fact. There are times when righteous anger is appropriate. I would rather alienate myself on behalf of humanity than disgrace myself with defending the degeneration occurring now with ideals of single-ballot issues. How is it less pro-life to defend the full lifecycle than it is merely to defend birth rates? I cannot reconcile it. 

We are still navigating the safest road to take, but safe is also not Jesus. Justice is Jesus. Truth is Jesus. Standing beside the oppressed is Jesus. Resisting evil is Jesus. So we will shut our mouths and put on masks and stand alongside our brothers and sisters in solidarity and, with hope, peace. We will listen to the stories of both joy and pain. And we will be there as a physical demonstration that balance and justice are necessary for trust. We are going because we don't know what else to do and it is no longer an option for us to sit back and watch from our place of privilege. 

28 is Pretty Great

Since my last post, a good portion of my life has changed.

Year 27 really started off slow, but it ended the last 6 months like dynamite.
During this year, I:

• Traveled to Arizona to visit my grandparents and family 
• Took a total of 18 credit hours of graduate credit
• Taught 12 hours of university English 
• Cut off 18 inches of hair
• Traveled to Arizona for the wedding of a best friend
• Worked a full-time job at two different universities.
• Traveled to Point Blank, Texas to enjoy one final year of Odomfesting at the Odom Lake House 
• Planted a ridiculous amount of plants with my crazy, gardening husband
• Very suddenly, changed jobs from one university, where I had been working as a senior assistant director of admissions, to another university, where I am working as a Student Success Coach 
• Very suddenly listed our beloved Cliffhouse 
• Faced the death of a dear friend and neighbor, Robert Barnett
• Faced the death of my grandmother, Daisy Marie 
• Faced the death of my grandmother, Ruth, one week later
• Faced the death of another dear friend and neighbor, Miss Jo Stephens 
• Faced the death of my unborn nephew, Philip
• Moved in with my parents
• Sold our Cliffhouse
• Saw my husband graduate with his Master's in Counselling 

It was a weird year. When the year began, I told my husband that I found myself pre-grieving. I didn't know why, but my heart told me it would be a painful one, and it was. I said goodbye forever to four beautiful people. I said goodbye to a family home of memories in Texas. I said goodbye to the home and garden we had poured ourselves into in Arkansas. I said goodbye to a team and a university that I had given everything to for roughly the past decade. I said goodbye to Siloam. I said goodbye to many friends and neighbors who I moved away from and who moved away from me. I grieved. I grieved a lot. 

I am so thankful for the time I had been able to share with those who died. I am equally thankful to be closer now to my family. I missed them. I am thankful to share space with my parents (even if it makes me realize just how much clutter we own) and play games and watch The Mentalist and be silly. I am thankful for my new job and for the new job that Julius will be starting soon. I am thankful that, somehow, we were able to harvest every plant Julius had planted before we sold the house. We got an offer, transplanted to pots, had the first frost that killed everything, and then closed on Cliffhouse. It was amazing. 

It's been a really exhausting half-year. But we move forward and hope for good and plant good seeds, maybe even in our own garden soon.