Mac and Grief

5:30 am....I'm awoken from my partial slumber by my other half (JV) turning on his portable radio.   It does nothing but squak all the stupid stuff I hear every day at work.  I ignore it.  Pull the blankets over my head.

5:45 am... JV signs into service and is called to a serious collision.  He's racing around...he's not ready for work yet....  I reluctantly swing myself out of bed and start his patrol car for him.  It's the least I can do, right?  Have a good morning, babe.  I say my daily prayers for him.  He turns on his emergency lights as he leaves the driveway, a daily ritual.

6:15 am...  I'm enjoying my morning coffee....psyching myself up for the things I need to do today:  let the chickens out, feed the horses, plant garlic, etc etc etc.   Leave me alone, I'm still waking up.....but JV calls.  "That's weird", I think to myself.  "Pretty early for him to be calling me....."

6:15 am.... JV calls.  "It's bad, Alicia.   That collision, its Mac....I need you to get ready.  We need to tell Sue...."

Mac and Sue.  Neighbors.   Good neighbors.  When JV moved in over 20 years ago, Mac was one of the people who would keep JV in check..."This is what you need to do, city boy...."  Mac who chaired the road committee, Mac who would tell dirty jokes that I can't repeat here.  Mac, the guy who looked like Santa, has a heart of gold....who is just a big cuddly guy who would do anything for anyone.....

Sue is a creature all her own.  The loudest person I've ever met.  Literally.  And has no cares about who hears her.  The person who stopped me on the road one time to talk and her lead-in to conversation was, "You know when you're writing a romance novel...."   No, Sue, I don't.  But she is an awesome lady.  Heart of gold.  Like her husband.

7:00 am...I'm ready to throw up.  I followed JV and the chaplain to Sue's place.  I'm ready to throw up....did I mention that yet?  I don't like bad news, I don't like delivering bad news.  I don't like confrontations, I don't like bad things.   No one does.

7:05 am....This is grief.  This is disbelief.  This is denial.

7:10 am on....we made calls.  We answered questions.  We delivered a horse to the horse kennel.  We did what we could.  Still doesn't seem like enough. By 3pm we're listening to stories about how Sue and Mac met.  These are good things.  But it still doesn't seem like enough.

3:30 pm.  It's time to make some of our own notifications.  Neighbors on the road.  Mac's name is on the news now.  Have a beer with some neighbors.  Talk about the shortness of life.

4:30 pm.   It's getting dark.  We feed the chickens.  We feed the horses.  The dogs, the cats.  (We have barn cats now!)

4:35 pm.  The chaplain calls.  He asks how we're doing.  WE.  I cried on the phone to him.  I can't help it.  He was there every day when Tony died, asking how we were doing.  For some reason, it brought all of that back.   I cried, he listened.  (Do you ever wonder how you can help?  Be there.  That's it.  Screw food, screw everything.  Just be there.  That's what people will remember).

7:10 pm.  I'm writing in this blog.  The first time in months.  I have more to say.  More things to get out.  But they will be locked up in my mind for awhile.  In my memory bank.  Waiting for an inappropriate time to make themselves known.

Go home.  Hug your spouse.  Your significant other.  Your family.  Your pets.  It doesn't matter.  Just hug them and be thankful that you have one more day with them.

"What cannot be said will be wept".
~Sappho

Perspective

Yesterday I watched my friend pick up her 3 year old disabled son with full leg casts, undress him enough to get him on the toilet, set him there, all while carrying a phone in the crook of her shoulder, taking a call from a school district denying her son enrollment into their special education program, because she is fighting for something better for him.

Sometimes it's all about perspective.

Wherever you stand, be the soul of that place.

~ Rumi

The pigs

Bonnie (or Charlie) and Clyde

Raising pigs was fun.  They grow fast.

When socialized, they're kinda loveable.  In a weird, smelly, bristle-y way.

They will eat ANYTHING.

We started feeding our pigs garden scraps from the beginning.  They loved it.  That morphed into old apples, molasses, and other treats when the garden was clear.

I think they grew every day.  30 pounds quickly morphed into 200 pounds (each!).

But then came the fateful day that I dreaded.  I knew from the very beginning that these pigs were food.  I tried not to get attached, but they're animals.  Of course I did.  Even after one at this size bit me in the butt while I was in their pen.    (GRAPHIC IMAGES BELOW...DO NOT SCROLL IF YOU DON'T WANT TO).

The pig knock-down stunk.  No matter how humane, it was still sad.  I cried when they were shot and taken over to where they got butchered.

I watched the butchering.  Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad.  There were some parts that I had to turn my head, but overall I did okay.

All I could do was just keep thanking them for what they gave to us and remember that we gave them the best 5 1/2 months they could possibly get.

The farm seems strangely empty without them now.

The greatest ethical test that we're ever going to face is the treatment of those at our mercy.
~ Lyn White