Your support system

If you’re like me, you’ve been completely surprised by where you find support. The people I expected to be most closely involved aren’t. And those I least expected to be involved, are.

My older sister has been my best friend for a decade. We’ve written almost daily emails back and forth for years, literally thousands of hours. Through her troubles and successes, and mine. So when Ben died, I reached for her. And she was there. Every moment of every day… for two weeks. She came and stayed with me. Slept near me. Woke with me in the middle of the night. Wrote his obituary. Argued with the funeral home. Dealt with the medical examiner. She was my person. Then at the end of two weeks she just disappeared from my life. Packed up, went home, didn’t call, didn’t write our daily emails. She was done. Finished. She gave me what she had… two weeks. I wrote to her “I miss you…” “I miss you..” “I miss you..”. She wrote an angry letter back that I didn’t miss her, I was angry at her for not giving more. I couldn’t argue that. But she couldn’t do it. For whatever reasons, job, husband, previous grief experience, she couldn’t be my person.

I felt like I lost Ben and my sister within two weeks of each other. My grief was compounded by the secondary loss.

But she surfaced a few months later with a vacation invite and provided a wonderful and much needed reprieve from grief.

After I lost her, that’s when the surprises started. That void allowed other people to step in to help.

Into the emptiness walked my sweet niece Jeorgia. She’d started the first day, cooking like a crazy person. Feeding us all good nutritious meals, day after day. Spending time with me every day, just to be there. Listen. Love. Going for ATV rides as if it was what she most wanted to do in the world because she knew it brought me relief. Helping me choose Memory Hill as a quiet spot to go and grieve in a house full of people. She’s been here ever since. Calls, texts, oil change, new kitty, chocolate milkshakes, new plant. She allows me to talk through my grief every day. Listens without tiring. She’s shown a million kindnesses in the past months. She’s my person. And I never expected it. She’s young, vibrant, full of life with a job and a two year old. But she’s been as steady as a rock helping me work my way through this waking nightmare. My sister raised a very fine human being.

My (nearly) ex-husband Jim. We separated in 2013 and he’s been in Canada ever since. We’ve had off and on contact. But one night, a few weeks after Ben’s death he stayed up with me through an entire sleepless night. We talked as the sun rose. He’s seen me through many sleepless nights since, even changing his sleep schedule to help me at 3am when the rest of the world is hoping I don’t call. He listens with patience as I revisit what happened and try to find ways to come to terms with my new reality.

My little sister, Fraya. We haven’t been especially close since we were children. She has a busy life being sole provider for her household, but she’s been here. Almost every day off she shows up with snacks, ready to ride, planting flowers at Memory Hill. Ready to talk, and listen as I work through the same things over and over. When I’m having a panic attack at 3am, she’s my go-to. She knows how to help me calm myself. Our 3am texts have been a lifeline I never expected and I cherish them.

Mama. I don’t know what I can say about her except she’s my angel. She feels my grief. I see it in her eyes. She just knows. And that comforts me somehow. She cooks me supper every day. Showing up on my doorstep (a few hundred yards from hers because I can’t go home) with fresh fried pork chops, rice and gravy, Lima beans, chopped tomatoes. She created beautiful little gardens for me at either end of the camper. A spot where my eyes can rest on butterflies and bright blooms. Nearly every day she comes to water and fertilize them. Stopping to sit and visit with me. She listens with love and patience as I try to work through the feelings from the interminable night before. She reaches out for me when I can’t stop my sobs. When I lose my job. She raced to find me a kitty when mine died. Then cooked all day because she didn’t know how else to help. She nurtures me every single day, moving between light and serious topics comfortably. She did my laundry for a month until I got a washer dryer installed out here. She wrote the thank you notes I couldn’t face. She has loved me through every moment of suffering. She never tires of hearing “I had a bad night…” I wouldn’t be alive today without her.

Daddy. Helping in every way he knows how to. I see the pain around his eyes and know he suffers with me. He wants to make it right and can’t. But he arranges to have my lawn mowed and trimmed. Keeps Memory Hill looking beautiful and visits it more than any of us. Cut down and crafted a Hickory Cross for it. Buried his treasured Indian stone in front of it. Helped me figure out how to live out here. Electricians and plumbers and ATV repairs and endless gallons of gas so I can ride off my grief. He gave up his barn and a multitude of old stuff stored in it so I have a comfortable spot to heal. He buried my poor kitty. He stops in to check on me every day. He helps me sort my thoughts by asking the right questions and listening to the answers. Shows me things I wouldn’t have known about. Smokes a cigar with me quietly and chats about critters. Shares my love for this amazing place. And helps me every day, cope with living out here in full-on nature. Thanks to him, I can take this time to figure out where my life goes from here. He helped me create this cocoon so I can retreat and learn how to live without Ben.

Claire, making sure I can see my grandson Beau whenever I feel up to it. She’s made it easy and worry-free for me and you couldn’t ask for a kinder person. It’s been a HUGE part of my healing.

I never realized how many Blessings I’ve received since Ben died until I sat down to write this. There are more people who helped too and whose presence has helped me in one way or another.