A year of mourning and lessons from the farm

June 25th marked a year since my brother died.  What I've realized is that a year means nothing in processing, not when it's a loss of this magnitude.  Maybe I would be further on if I went to therapy. Maybe I wouldn't.  What I realize is that I'm just as angry and exasperated at the events and behaviours that led to his death as I was when I found out.  I still flash back to the events of the day I got the call from my dad, the days of the wake and of the funeral. Then there's a blur when I went back to BC to stay with Mom and my stepfather and try to heal by the ocean a bit.  It was really great that G sent me back--he just seemed to know I would need it.  So kudos to him for dealing with the tough emotions and learning that you can't just ignore things and they will go away.  It's hard to deal with the coping mechanisms you've been taught or have learned.  When you realize they are unhelpful or downright unhealthy it's a really good step I think.  

So speaking of crappy coping choices, I have to make some changes.  I've gained to much weight this year.  I don't exercise.  I eat too much, drink too much, have awful sleep.  It's not surprising really. It's disappointing.  I haven't turned to food as solace since I was a teenager.  So I've decided that a year is enough.  It's time to stop.  So the other day I walked Zane for almost an hour.  I scythed for 45 minutes. I took a nap.  Then when G got home we drove to a nearby trail and I rollerbladed for a while.  It's tough to do all of this when every time I leave the farm it means the chores are just piling up for later.  But it's a start, and I need to carry on.

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The barn swallows are fledging in the chook palace.  The parents swoop at my head and give alarm calls whenever I go out there. The fledglings are learning to fly and don't have much endurance yet. One little bird was trying to follow his parents out of the palace but couldn't figure out where the exit was over the door. He kept smashing into the wire mesh while trying to take the direct route.  The parents got more and more frantic.  I was able to guide him out the exit. The next day it happened again.  Every time he made the wrong choice he was damaging his fragile young tail feathers.  The parents called and flew and tried to coax him out the right spot.  It wasn't working.  I ended up catching the bird and putting him right at the spot he needed to be.  But I knew that eventually he'd have to figure it out by himself.  

So maybe people really did try to help my brother.  Maybe they felt just as helpless as the bird parents--their calls ignored.  Sometimes there really is nothing you can do.  But I still have my doubts.