Sudden, irreversible change.

Years ago, I used tarot as a tool to help my decision making processes. The cards were never divinatory for me. They did help me, on occasion, to sort out the jumbled contents of my mind.

Although I no longer have a tarot deck, I keep the images in my mind, to help generalize and sort complicated situations and feelings. The past few months, Death has been dealt many, many times. The grinning specter does not necessarily signify death, just sudden, irreversible change. I wonder if it's been dealt inverted this last time, or if things will change for the better instead.

Is it the nine, or ten of swords that holds more meaning today? The five of cups lies together with the Emperor, both inverted, both my fault.

Khaki. Who knew?

Apparently, khaki is a color. I had this pointed out to me today. I no longer have to refer to things as tan-ish brown. I had previously thought that khaki only referred to a style of pants.

The word sounds like what happens when you cough and sneeze at the same time. KHAAA-KI!!!

I woke up this morning to snow on the ground. Today could have been a wonderful day. Vernal equinox, the first day of spring, the day after which the days will be longer than the nights for six months. It could have been a happy day for me.

Unfortunately, happiness is far, far away. Perhaps it is locked in a cupboard, somewhere in the recesses of my mind. It is probably collecting dust. I'd look for it, but there are too many cupboards, holding too many things that I'd rather not find instead of happiness.

I didn't want to get out of bed this morning. I was having a good dream, where the sun was shining, where everyone I love was happy and smiling. We were all having a picnic together, joking and laughing under a perfect summer sky. It was a very vivid dream. It was the most joyful and comforting dream I have ever experienced.

Upon waking, the sense of comfort drained away, leaving me with sorrow, dread, grief, loss, and loneliness twisting in the hollow pit of my stomach. I got up, drank a pot of coffee, brushed my hair, and helped the kids dress in their best clothes.

I couldn't find anything appropriate to wear for myself. All of my dresses were either dirty, torn, or ill-fitting. I had a black pair of slacks, but they too, didn't fit. I needed a belt. I don't own a belt. I decided that it didn't matter what I looked like and wore the absurdly baggy slacks with a t-shirt long enough to disguise the fact that my waistband was riding sightly below my hips.

"Nobody is going to be looking at me anyway," I thought.

My maternal grandmother drove me to the graveside service. Dozens of people were there. I only recognized a handful of them. Everyone was talking. Snippets of conversation rose out of the hubbub.

"What a beautiful color on the casket."

"How was the drive?"

"Eloise is looking pretty well."

"Now, where are their sons buried?"

I wanted to get back in the car and go home. If I had driven myself, I would have. I saw my brother, a head or more taller than everyone else, with his wife. They had flowers. Flowers for Grandpa's grave, for Dad's grave, and for my daughter's grave. I didn't bring anything but tears, and not enough kleenex. Now my hands, as well as my heart, felt empty.

In order to avoid looking at anyone's face, I looked at their clothes. My brother was wearing a nice suit. It looked expensive. Everybody had nice clothes on. Black predominated.

I looked at what my children and I were wearing and cringed. Their best clothes weren't what I had thought them to be. My son's coat had a large tear in the sleeve, so he kept his right arm clamped to his side so that the wind wouldn't blow through it. He was slouching, but not because he normally slouched. He slouched because his only button up shirt was too small, and bits of skin showed when he stood up straight.

My daughter stood shivering in the cold wind, her dress too thin for this weather. It was the only dress I could find for her that fit. I should have let her wear pants.

The pallbearers moved the casket a whopping ten feet to where the grave was. With all the fake grass and mechanical stuff, it looked surreal. Other than the pile of muddy soil, there was nothing that seemed real about the burial.

The pastor said things that I felt had nothing to do with my grandpa. My grandpa never talked to me about God or Jesus. He talked to me about nature and farming, about how to fix things and how to make things. I wouldn't be the person I am today without the input I had from my grandpa.

After the graveside service everyone milled around and the hubbub resumed. I found myself standing in front of my firstborn daughter's grave, staring blankly at the headstone. Her birthday would have been two days from today. She would have been twelve.

A constant stream of people came by, gave me a hug and said, "Hi. I'm _____. I'm your _____. I haven't seen you since ______'s funeral."

Apparently, my father's side of the family only talks to me at funerals. They all seem to know each other pretty well, and know exactly who I am. I don't recognize any of them. I find myself wondering if there are family functions that I have been excluded from for my entire life.

My grandmother asked me to give a reading for the eulogy. So I found myself standing at the memorial service, facing a room so full of people that there were people standing in the back and peeking in from the foyer. People I didn't know. People with expectant looks and tissues at the ready.

I read the words on the paper that my grandmother had handed me. I carefully enunciated each syllable without thinking of the content. I managed to not cry in front of a roomful of strangers.

After the funeral there was another stream of people introducing themselves to me. I didn't know who any of them were this time either.

Another building, a reception, and another stream of people went by. I found out that one of my neighbors is a second cousin that I never knew I had. There was food. I didn't want to eat. Relatives harassed me until I did.

I am still grieving. I will miss my beloved grandpa for the rest of my life. I will remember him every time I smell rain on the wind, every time I split wood, and every time I buck bales. The memory of my grandfather will live on in all the things he taught me, and I will teach those things to my children.

Loss and regrets.

With every loss comes regrets. Things that could have been done differently run endlessly through my mind. Even when I know that there was nothing that would have changed the outcome, I have doubts about the choices I made. I am sorry for all the moments I didn't make time to call, or stop by, because now there really is no time. I regret not being kinder, not expressing my feelings more eloquently, because I no longer have the chance to.

There is so much loss, so many gaping holes in the fabric of my life, I fear that my attempts to patch them will only result in ruin. All I can do is hold tighter to the living, and hope I can heal before the next loss comes.

Incipient spring.

The dark gloom of winter is beginning to withdraw, removing it's cold shroud from my senses. Every year it's the same, and every year spring still feels fresh and new to me. The first flower of spring, the crocus, always fills me with new hope. Hope which moments before seemed insurmountably distant, and impossible to obtain. The rich, earthy smell of sun warmed soil, the birdsong floating though the air, and the sun, warm on my face through a bitterly cold breeze, may have been present occasionally through the winter, but I never feel them as piercingly, as intensely, as in the spring.

The vernal season affects my emotions profoundly. All the seasons do, but none so forcefully as springtime. Love, particularly new love, is more poignant, almost painfully so. I must restrain my optimism, lest it become wild and unrealistic. I find myself breaking into song, inflicting my singing voice on innocent victims.

The last few years I have been unable to fully enjoy my favorite season. Too much grief, too much responsibility, I have kept myself from savoring the sensations of spring.

Perhaps this year I can let go of past pain, and revel in the sensations of the season. I apologize in advance for the aural discomfort I am likely to inflict upon my friends, as I harmonize to the mood of spring.

Giving it the college try.

I've decided to give college another chance. Only on Saturdays, or from the comfort of my own home. I had to change my major to do this, and I may have to upgrade my computers. Heck, I may have to buy a whole new computer. I also got a way groovier sounding major. "Network Design and Administration" Neat-o! I'm all registered and everything.

The New Moniker Contest is still on, I will be taking submissions for a few more weeks.