Sunflower

“Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow. It’s what sunflowers do.” ~Helen Keller

It’s been six months since my mom’s passing. Since then, death stories pour in, the new normal, as the pandemic rips through the world. What we thought would be an additional shitty few months has become an endless state of despair. Everyone is trying to get on like we are ok, but we are not. I planted these sunflowers in her memory and they grew up super tall and strong just like her. Funny though, these flowers keep facing the house and not the yard. It’s like they are begging me to see them and trying to cheer me up.

Today I received a letter written to my mom from my cousin, her niece Nicolette. I had wanted her to write something for this blog because she got us started on the #belikebarb hashtag and has encouraged others to live better by making art, being resourceful, creating with kids, and getting in the garden. Her letter is especially insightful for those of us that are taking care of others right now- teachers, social workers, and parents, and anyone that is dealing with loss. She said that writing it was like ripping off a band-aid. And that is so true. Moments of pain are part of the healing process…

Dearest Barb,

I am finally sitting down to push these thoughts into the concrete world.  We are still feeling the oppressive heat of the summer here in Indiana, but some leaves are beginning to fall, and the evenings are becoming a bit cooler. Our hours of light in the day are becoming shorter, and the excitement of summer is slowly giving way to the calm of fall. This means that we are nearing a year’s time passed since we first heard the news of your diagnosis.  

As a school counselor, I often help young folks deal with grief.  One of the things we talk about is that unless people have been through it themselves, they will not understand. This is because losing someone that has had an impact on you in life is other-worldly, surreal, truly and fully incomprehensible. Existence can be so fragile, one minute here and the next- just not. The absence doesn’t give us a chance to negotiate, barter, or beg for more time. We have been so conditioned to believe that if we want something bad enough, or work hard enough, or sacrifice enough, that we will be rewarded with what we want or need. Loss is one of the cases that proves this wrong.  

People with help and healing wishes in mind will tell you that “time heals all wounds,” or that at some point we need to focus on “moving on.” I share with the kids that this advice is likely all coming from a good place and from someone who probably has the best intentions but isn’t understanding their hurt at the moment. I encourage them to show these people grace, and to understand they are likely doing the best they can to support them. We then talk about how the English language doesn’t seem to have words to properly describe the aching void of loss. How sometimes it is also physical- a throbbing, an actual tactile pain. In the end I share with them, that there is nothing that I, they, or anyone else can do to make this feel better. All I can do is try to listen and be there for them when they need an ear, just a moment of breaking, or of peace.

Barb, you and I being educators-in-common have had discussions about this subject- young hearts and how fragile they are. We discussed the importance of living through it.  How every action and moment can be changed by the living of it, and that though time will pass- it doesn’t heal a wound like this. At best, it can help to plaster a scar over it. Maybe with more time, the scar gets tougher- but it is still a scar and will never be the same as the unblemished mental and emotional skin that existed before. I feel like that is where we are now, just adjusting to this new normal.

A Mr. Rogers quote about looking for the helpers in the world in times of crisis has been circulating more and more as of late. Unfortunately- out of necessity. Our world has been turned steadily upside down since your loss.  In fact, your beautiful memorial was the last time many of us have had contact with our family and close friends, as the pandemic hit us hard here just days and weeks following. When I hear that quote, I always think of you- you were one of the helpers at times like these. During the stay-at-home order, my mind wandered to you often, as I knew that you would have been sending all of the kids arts kits, FaceTiming with all of us on new projects to do, and supplying us with goodies and love from the SmithShownian to make it happen.

On top of the pandemic, folks have become tired of forgiving and hoping for systemic societal change- it isn’t working. People have set to the streets marching, chanting and loving one another, facing backlash together.  Again, my mind circled to you. I know that you would have been marching, chanting, and loving right alongside them. I also know that you would have told us the importance of being heard and doing what we can to make this a better world for our children and those to come after us. I know that you would have been on the front lines with the artists who also plastered over cities’ wounds- a physical representation of lifetimes of suffering- with messages of hope, love, justice, and collaboration.  

When we cried, you likely would have reassured us of our strength, and encouraged us to use it to make change. You would have said “you are strong, you are ok,” because you knew that that is likely all that we needed to hear. You would have told us to use what we have, make the best of it, use art to “get it out,” and find the ways that we can make progress. And if I am being honest, you probably would have also helped us find the appropriate choice words to use while we ranted together about the causes, the continuation, and the forced acceptance of the ills we deal with every day.

On acceptance of pain, one of the things that I also share with kids in grief is how to honor someone in their everyday life. In doing so, this helps to carry this person on even after they have physically departed from us. I ask them “What is something that you do everyday that makes you think of them? What is something that they taught you and you still continue to do? Did you have a tradition that you can continue with, to remember and honor them? What did you have in common with them that will allow you to keep them in your heart and present for you as you go forward?”

To honor you, I had begun the project of “Use What You Got,” and shared it with others each time in an intentional way. I was basically using up actual supplies that I had instead of always restocking. Surprisingly, this morphed into using what I had in the realm of skills or talents, being kind to others, giving of what I had, and artistic endeavors, all while keeping you intentionally in mind while doing it. I adopted the #belikeBarb hashtag upon sharing these adventures. What surprised me most, was how others who had never met you ALSO began doing this, and sometimes even using your hashtag. Your kindness, generosity, and creativity continued to grow and to pass to others, even after you were gone from this Earth. A true testament to how much you were and are still present.

I have taken a bit of a step back from social media, so I don’t share it as much, but I still think of you so often. I see you in my garden, my own inherent goofiness, our shared love (and sometimes hate/frustration) of canning, in my need to create, artistic projects, in my school office, in helping my students through loss. I see you still present in your immediate family’s lives, their successes, and their aching hearts every day. I especially see you in all of our family’s kids who adored and miss you dearly. You provided a piece of their puzzle that cannot be replicated.

Your family misses you dearly but are persevering. Your children and grandchildren have continued to amaze me with what they are able to do and accomplish- what an amazing job you and Don have done. Don continues to work hard to honor you and continue on in your memory- traveling, always helping others, and just being the all-around smart, loving, caring guy that you chose to spend your life with. Your nephew Zachary continues to amaze me everyday with what he accomplishes, and who he is as a husband. Your sisters miss you dearly, but you have all always had this power to band together and grow so much stronger in the face of heartbreak.  

Poor Stace has been asking me for words for a while, and I am not exactly sure why I wasn’t able to put this all into words until this morning, but I just decided to do it. I suppose that is grief for you. The ups and downs are nauseating, but we have to accept them to be able to move through them. I will continue to keep you present with me and honor your memory the best I can going forward. I suppose that we will all keep on going about the business of toughening our scars. However, please know that even though it is super painful- this is a scar that I am so thankful to have had the opportunity to have. Without doubt, I am better for having known you, and having had a chance to love you, and be a part of your family.

Missing You Dearly,

            Nicolette (Nikki) Benedict