Rain At Last

63°f/17°C, overcast with light showers.

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What a relief. It is so nice to wake up to the patter of raindrops.  We had a good hard rain, short but so appreciated,  yesterday evening, and more is on the way today. At least, so the weatherman says. I sure hope he's right. Just getting the dust settled is a huge help! Our dark gray van has been constantly dirty; no amount of washing can keep it clean since we live on a gravel road.

Yesterday I finally planted the lettuce, carrots, radishes, and onions I have been trying to get in for the past two weeks. Seems like we have been on the run so much that I just couldn't get to it. 

I picked a bouquet while I was out in the gardens. The flowers are still doing okay.

I was very pleased to see that about half of the leeks I planted survived, despite the heat and lack of rain. Poor little things, they were so tiny! I weeded and hoed all the late garden area. The bok choi, a first try for me, is thriving, so if you have any recipes for it please send them along. We have lettuce ready to pick too, as well as kale and turnip greens. The turnips need to be thinned, so that's my next job.

My cup for this month was a gift from my friend Francis (a lady despite the male spelling of her name). I had to promise not to sell it! But why would I, with such lovely graphics? And so delicate.

The rest of the garden has slowed way down but is still producing. We picked a lot of yellow squash, a couple zucchini,  some tomatoes, and enough cucumbers that I will be making some relish today. I use this recipe. The relish is perfect for making chicken or ham salad for sandwiches.

Green Man got a new hairdo yesterday.

So, relish-making, and then preparing grab bags for my booths will be my to-do list for today. And enjoying the clouds and the rain. 

A single deep rose zinnia, for my tea tray.

But mostly, my mind will be on my late son Jon. Today was his birthday, so he would have been 55 today. I well remember when he was born. Only 4 hours of labor, and he came out yelling, no need for the usual swat on the behind to open those lungs! Jon was always like that, rushing through life like he knew he didnt have much time. His years were short,  but he certainly made them count, and left this world with 5 beautiful daughters,  so in that way he still lives on. How blessed we were to have him, if only for 39 years.

Linking to Michelle's Thankful Thursday today.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Jon, Remembered on His Birthday

We lost Jon in 2010 in an accident. Today he would have been 53.

From being my baby,

to a wild, happy little boy (in the center of the left photo )and a hard worker(pictured here in our first garden on this place, 1976 or 1977--it was pretty rough back then),

to high school, giving a talk about tires because he worked part-time at a tire shop,

then the Army for 10 years,

where he worked in the White House for a while,

marriage and 5 daughters (pictured here after his death) ,

with his 4 brothers (back row, 2nd from right), the last photo I have of them all together, I think,

a Master's degree in Business Administration, 

his first granddaugher,

and final resting place.

So many more memories, far too many for one post. If you'd like to read more about Jon, just click here.

Loved and missed every single day.

White Feather

on the pavement,

wet with rain. Tears,

your memory,
fresh as yesterday,

ten years past.

White feathers, they say, are signs that the spirit of a loved one is close by.

In memory of my son Jonathan Scott Ford, gone ten years this day. Looking through my photos, I noticed how often he was hugging someone. I miss those hugs. I miss him.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Spring Thoughts

A surprise this morning: snow! I went to bed thinking rain was on the way and woke up to snow. Which I like much better than rain.

Since last Thursday was the first day of spring in the old Celtic world, I thought I would push the season a bit and cut some forsythia and japonica to force into bloom inside.

The buds are already swelling on some of the pieces, a sure sign that life goes on no matter the darkness.

The next day, Friday, was the anniversary of my son's death. I had to spend it alone for the first time. Not because I wanted to; Larry had an appointment at the VA in Huntington and usually I go with him because we both enjoy the drive down Route 2 along the Ohio River. But since I had this cold I thought it was not wise to carry it into that facility with so many elderly sick people around. So I stayed home.

Early in the afternoon I heard a soft thump at the door and my heart sank even lower. I knew what it was: a bird had flown into the glass even though I'd stuck paper hearts on it to prevent that very thing.

I went out to look and there was a little black-capped chickadee on the mat in front of the door. He was still alive, thank goodness. I picked him up gently to see if he was hurt but he looked all right. I didn't want to leave him by the door where the cats could get at him, so I put him in a tall planter, out of feline sight.

I worried about the cold. I know birds keep warm by moving, fluffing their feathers and eating a lot. It was under 20 degrees, bitter cold. How long could he survive without moving? I checked on him every five minutes; if he hadn't flown in 20 minutes I had a box ready for him in the house, where I planned to add some feed and a little water if need be. One bird out of thousands might not seem worth the trouble, but while life is present, can we ever give up? On what was to be my last check before bringing him inside, he was gone. He was apparently just stunned and took a bit to sort himself out. What a relief.

And how like me he was. Every year on this anniversary it's like hitting that glass door where I can see through to the memories of my son and every year I slam right into those memories on this date. Not to say it doesn't happen at other times, but this one is predictable. And like that little bird, I am stunned and laid low for a bit, but eventually dust myself off and go on. Because to stay in that place surely means the death of joy and of who I am at my core.

So, on we go. The buds are continuing to swell and soon there will be flowers. The little chickadee will go on to nest and raise young. I will plant gardens and tell stories. Life goes on, and so must we.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Remembrance

In this house grief dwells,

An unwanted boarder that follows me

As I turn on lamps to chase away the lingering night

I feel its breath upon my neck, its long fingers clutching

While I wash the breakfast dishes and clear the kitchen, memories

Stick like yesterday’s words, like a song I heard in 1970, Like the moment you were born,

Like your little fingers circling mine.

It watches as I sweep the floors,

Put away books and papers and pictures

And start the day’s laundry. Grief is in no hurry;

It can bide its time and wait to strike when some little thing,

A button, a photo, the cutting board you made when you were seventeen

Tears an opening in my defenses.

In darkness I draw the covers over my mind

And flip the pages of the photo album of your too-short life,

The recording of your voice, the unending video of your death in snow and ice

I replay over and over and over.

Grief does not sleep, it is never tired

Or weary of its singular pursuit. It will be here as long

As I draw breath, as long as my heart knows you and remembers,

As long as time.

Here is where grief lives;

There is nothing that can be done about it.

It is, and that is all.

 

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

September 4, 1970-February 2, 2010

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Remembering Jon

I posted this on Facebook today, then thought I really should have posted it here. So...

Life is bitter and sweet, sad and joyous all at the same time. It's been 6 years since we lost our son Jonathan on this date. Blinding snow, one of the worst storms the DC area ever experienced, how well I remember that day. There is also sweetness and joy as we watch his daughters thrive, his wife Jennifer's resilience doing a great job as a single mom. And joy because tomorrow our youngest son Tommy is coming home from Florida to visit for a few days. We go on, don't we, doing the best we can and always mindful of the shortness of life and the joy to be found in every day.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Reflection, and Baking Vintage

As always, the days leading up to yesterday were difficult--knowing that the anniversary date was coming, fear of how it might affect me, worry that I might get too depressed, wondering how quickly I will recover this time. It all sounds very self-involved, isn't it? And yet, who cannot be that way when grief and loss are involved? It is after all, a personal experience that is only mine and no one else's. We all deal with tragedy in our own ways.

Normally I go somewhere and stay very busy on that date, avoidance being the best route in the past. This year I stayed home and stayed busy with mundane things like painting the kitchen cabinets, working on a big dresser and entering data for my taxes. And it was okay. There was time for reflection and remembrance, time to communicate online with friends and by phone with a couple family members who thought to call. One day at a time, right? And yesterday was not a bad day in the end. I got through it, and this morning woke up cheerful and ready to move on.

So today it's back to mundane. I have no need to go out for the third day in a row. The cabinets got their final coat of paint this morning and await the polyurethane coating to protect them. Larry has finished the doors with new stain and polyurethane and I have new-to-us old white glass knobs for handles. We painted inside the cabinets and they look fresh and clean. Last week I painted the cabinets the same sage green I used on the inside, and guess what? I didn't like it! It looked too blah, somehow. So now I have painted them a deep red called Tuscan Red. It's one of the General Finishes paint colors. I really like General Finishes milk paints and have been using them almost exclusively. I tell you though, that green was good paint, whatever it was. I bought it at the Habitat for Humanity ReStore in Charleston and it was some of the best paint I have ever used. Two coats gave excellent coverage.

I decided to bake this morning to warm up the house. It was cold last night, down in the low teens and there is a chill in the air that makes it feel even colder than that. Since I had an open jar of applesauce and some raisins leftover from Christmas baking, I decided to make Applesauce Cake (my recipe is here), but to bake it in muffin tins. Two reasons for that: I love my old muffin tins' shape, and muffins give a controlled portion, unlike a cake where a piece can be as big as a person wants to cut it! (I was surprised when I linked the recipe to find I posted it on February 2, 2008, just two years to the day before I lost my son. Life has odd coincidences.)

It hit me as I finished making the muffins that I use pretty much all vintage kitchen tools these days. This morning for example I used  my old muffin tins, Pyrex bowl and measuring cup, aluminum measuring spoons, my mother's KitchenAid mixer, a red-handled dipper, and the recipe is kept with all my other favorites in an old photo holder. Then there is the Ball jar that held the applesauce, my little Hazel Atlas nut chopper I used for the walnuts, and of course my trusty Tappan range. Even the butter was melted in an old cast iron saucepan.

What is the pleasure of cooking with these old tools? Perhaps it is that they've stood the test of time and are still here, ready to work. There is comfort in holding a ladle that was held by cooks before me; perhaps some of them also experienced tragedy and loss and yet they too probably continued to cook, laugh and love.


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Anniversary: 5 Years

The years have past but the memory does not grow dim. Thinking today of my son who left us on this day in 2010. Here is the eulogy I wrote then:

Jon's Eulogy

(I did not have this written out when I spoke at the funeral—I wrote only the to-do list and the last paragraph on a piece of paper, and spoke from that. It was all I needed since I knew the rest by heart. I have tried to recall exactly what I said, and I believe I have captured most of it. Several people have asked for it because they were unable to be at the funeral.)

Eulogy for Jonathan Scott Ford
February 10, 2010

Jon’s To-Do List:

1. get born
2. learn to drive
3. work hard
4. go in the Army
5. get married and have a family
6. retire
7. go to college
8. play hard
9. become a business owner

10. become a grandfather

This is Jonathan’s to-do list, and I believe he was born with this list clutched in his hand. Number one on the list was to get born. He was in such a hurry to get started that he was born 3 weeks early after 4 hours of labor, and came out squalling so loud that the doctor said, “No need to smack this one on the behind. He’s breathing just fine!”

I think Jon was born knowing how to drive. We never taught him; he just got on or in anything that would move and started driving. At first it was toy cars and trucks, then a horse which he traded for a motorcycle as soon as he could, then the motorcycle for his first car. He loved to be behind the wheel and on the road, on the move.

Jon didn’t do so well in school, graduating near the bottom of his class because he was too busy following rule number three-work hard. He struggled with authority figures and that got him kicked out of school more than he was in class in his senior year, I believe, but that didn’t bother Jon at all—he used the time out of school to work at three part-time jobs at the same time. Nothing slowed him down.

At sixteen he enlisted in the Army because he believed it was both an honor and a duty to serve his country. Realizing what he had missed in school, he took classes in the Army to learn what he needed to know to get ahead. He married his high school sweetheart before leaving for basic training, and from that marriage came his beautiful daughter Jordan. He had to go to Korea to meet the love of his life, his Jennifer, and from this second marriage came three more lovely granddaughters, Kate, Cassidy and Allison. We are so blessed to have them and Jennifer as part of our family. You were the light of his life.

Jon was not content to be an average soldier—he strove to be the best, winning Soldier of the Quarter several times and selected to join the White House Communications Agency, where he traveled with the President, Vice-President and other dignitaries during his four years in the agency.

He even managed to retire before he was 30—he received a medical retirement from the Army, and looked around for his next adventure. He got into cell phones at a time when the industry was just taking off and became part of research and development, again traveling often to Europe and other locations as part of his job. While working full-time for Nextel he earned his Bachelor’s degree, and later his Master’s in Business Administration, actually starting on his Master’s degree before he had quite completed the Bachelor’s program. With the MBA under his belt, he looked for his next adventure, and found it with my brother’s company, Connelly & Associates.

Jon loved working at Connelly. He got up early every day, eager to go to work. He loved the challenge of the jobs, the possibilities and the people he worked with. He could not wait to see what they might get into next, what direction the company might take.

Jon also believed in playing hard. He ran a marathon just to be able to say he did it; he owned and drove a racing motorcycle, learned to ski, scuba dive, whitewater raft, kayak, and he loved the game of golf. He and his brothers hunted together, golfed together, and plain enjoyed just being together.

And even though he left us at 39 years old, Jon completed the last thing on his to-do list—he became a grandfather last year when his granddaughterCadyn was born. What a life.

Right now, we’re struggling to get though this day and this sorrow. But all of you who knew Jon know that he would not want us to wallow in grief and sadness. He would expect us to pick up the pieces and go on with our lives, living as he lived his—full of energy and enthusiasm.

What will define Jon’s life is how we go on: not look back with regret, but with love and gratitude that we had this amazing person in our lives. If you would honor the life of my son Jonathan Scott Ford, you will go forward as he would have you do—with enthusiasm, hope, and passion. That is what Jonathan would want us to do.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Anniversary dates are always difficult. Tomorrow, September 4,  would have been my Jon's 44th birthday. I still miss and grieve for him every day. Sometimes I need to read this poem and remember its wise words.

Celtic Prayer
For All Who Grieve

Do not hurry

as you walk in grief.

It does not help the journey.

Walk slowly,

pausing often.

Do not hurry

as you walk in grief.

Do not be disturbed

by memories that come unbidden.

Swiftly forgive unspoken words.

Be not disturbed

be gentle with the one

who walks in grief.

If it is you

be gentle with yourself.

Swiftly forgive.

Walk slowly,

pausing often.

Take time,

be gentle

as you walk with grief.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

It's Never Really Over

I realized with a start tonight that it has been almost four years since I lost my son. The days crawled by at first, one by miserable, horrible one. Then weeks, then months. And now years. I have learned many things in that time, mostly about how to keep on going.

Because in the end, what else can we do? I suppose there is the option to just lie down and quit. It was an attractive option at first, I'll admit. What reason was there to go on trying and striving? I found no meaning in my work, my home or my relationships. All would end eventually in pain, loss and sorrow, after all. I had had too many doses of all three in the past five years as first my mother, then my father, and then my son were all taken from me.

What I learned, though, is that we go on because there is really no other choice for those of us who can't take the easy way out. No matter how bad the pain, the dishes still need to be done, the laundry still needs to be folded, and others still need our love and attention. It is those others that are the crux of the matter, really. When we are needed and loved by others, can we turn into ourselves and our own sorrow and ignore their pain? Perhaps there are some who can, but for those who have cared for others all their lives, it's not a consideration.

And stories. Stories bring healing, comfort, and even joy. I have heard so many "Jon" stories--funny, outrageous, inspiring, touching, surprising but always welcome tales of things he did, things he shouldn't have done, people he helped, challenges he faced. He was not perfect; like all of us, he had his weaknesses and faults. But he lived, he shared, and he cared. That is what I have learned and taken comfort from in the stories.

As time has passed, I've found that I can talk of him easily and without imminent tears (most of the time, anyway). I have also come to understand and accept grief as a constant partner, waking and sleeping. It does not get better; it does not go away. I have become stronger over these past few years. I can continue to do, to plan, to laugh and enjoy even as the dark river of grief runs with a fast current beneath the surface. I can smile and say I am fine when asked how I am. I can joke and laugh and enjoy the changing of the seasons, while in my mind I am seeing his grave covered with fall leaves, or winter's snow or gentle spring green. In my heart I am wanting him to be here, to hear his laugh or feel his hug, even though I know it cannot be. But I can recall his little-boy face, his enjoyment of his pony, and his love for his family and in these memories find enough to keep going, to keep smiling, and to go on, one day, one week, one year at a time.


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

A Birthday Blessing

Jon means gift of God, and so he was, and so he still is through his daughters and his wife. This would have been his 43rd birthday. I remember the night he was born as if it was last week: the quick onset of labor at just about this time of the evening, the rush to the hospital, the confident doctor who assured me it would be hours and the same doctor rushing frantically back to deliver Jon at 9:31pm. My hospital roommate delivered her daughter just one minute earlier (same doctor) and we stayed up all night talking and wondering what baby was making all that noise in he nursery. As it turned out, it was mine. He was hungry and letting the world know he was not happy. Even though 3 weeks early, Jon came bursting into the world and continued to forge ahead throughout his life.

It ended too soon, and he is so deeply missed. But we were and are blessed to have had him with us, and the memories he left us are treasures that brighten the hard times. I know that many of his friends and all of his family are thinking about him today and wishing he was here to celebrate. He is here though, in our hearts and in our stories about him, and in the legacy he left us: his five beautiful girls and his wife who is a cherished part of our family.

He was a gift, indeed. Happy birthday, Jon.



Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.