When I’ve lost myself, or my mind, I find it again in nature.
Some people find therapy in taking a drive. Families find pleasure in the togetherness of a holiday or a hike.
We should.
This is how we experience the full repertoire of living.
As I wrote in a poem for Corrie, where do we go when the lights go out?
I know, for a fact, Corrie would want me to spread joy, to laugh, to dance and to remember everything beautiful inside and out about her.
I know and feel that from her.
But it does not change the darkness inside us felt by her absence. It leaves us feeling like the dead flower above.
When I’ve felt the darkness before, it is hard to pull away from all the emotions that go with it. There are a wide range of emotions you can feel in one minute. Then you’re exhausted.
I’ve found being in the quiet, on the trails my husband has mown (as I wrote of my love for him and for Corrie in my last post), nature brings a sort of peace not offered in the social world.
In nature, I remember Corrie in all the best ways without interruption of thought, and I can say her name as often as I wish. I need to know my daughter’s life is still important.
My husband, John, and I have planned a garden. We are in the planning for phase 2 for our Corrie Memorial Garden. It has taken a while since our first phase in June because we had to get all the materials for phase 2, which is to spread the dirt and build a retaining wall. We predict we’ll do this in October.
John talked to me about where he planned to lay out the wings of my father’s vision for the butterfly garden yesterday as we looked out over the space.
I still need time with my daughter. There is this fear after your loved one dies that everyone will forget and move on. People become wrapped up in their high speed lives.
Where do I go when the lights go out?
When my mind is clearer and not plagued by the darkness that sometimes haunts it, I go outside. It is beautiful right now, and I would rather stay outside all day than sit in front of the TV and watch crowdless football games.
I hear a voice say, “Mommy, come outside with me.”
“Becca, what do you do for self-care?”
When the nightmares disperse and I remember on more content days, I think of ways I can spend time with her still. Ways to remember the beauty of the Earth and heaven.
It’s been almost two weeks, since I went to the cemetery. Storms had come through our area. I knew Thomas Houser and his infant sister’s grave probably had lost some of the items I had placed there as they always do whether by carelessness or someone knocks them down with a weed eater. They are always messed up every time I go.
I was right.
Even Corrie’s grave needed a lot of cleaning up because the pole was leaning to the side. My mom had brought this beautiful autumn cross, but the pole could not take its weight. I placed it on Corrie’s garden stand.
When people talk about cutting grass, I am often the first to make fun of homeowners’ associations and their dictatorship rules when it comes to how people do their own gardens or cutting grass. If you cut grass with a purpose, such as keeping your yard clean, it is different. There is a more important reason to cut the grass than any other:
To see that baby’s name.
It could be six more months before Corrie has her grave marker because we ordered a beautiful marble stone that will have her name in pink and her picture on it.
I feel better when I know these babies’ names can be seen. If time allows, I tell each baby or child that their life was important. I say their names in case no one else does.
That is a fear I hope no parent ever experiences:
the fear that one day no one will say your child’s name.
Thomas Houser died from the Spanish Influenza. He and his sister, unnamed and likely stillborn or died soon after delivery, are buried next to their mother, Lela. The baby girl’s flowers were gone when I came to see them yesterday.
I have about ten other graves I visit and clean up now. There are other brothers and sisters like these two, and I accept I cannot get to all of them. I am particularly protective of these two because they are a brother and sister. Their mother lost two children. I save just enough batter on the weed eater to cut around their graves and Lela’s grave.
I am probably going to put something special above the Houser children’s graves. No mother should ever endure the loss of a child. Lela Houser lost two. Some people treat these babies graves as if they do not matter.
But in nature …
whether the planning of a garden or the cemetery
I find peace, however temporary.
Corrie's Season 