Grieving Gardener

There are some things that seem so impossible, they might as well find me standing on the streets of Katmandu while petting a vendor’s monkey. Treasures sometimes sit right under our noses waiting to be discovered, eliminating the need for exotic travel. Off ramps driven by every day, never exiting, could hold the most beautiful wonders one could ever see in their life. But life keeps us trapped in routine, enclosed in four walls, double-masked and afraid. I assure you, I would rather die of the virus than stay inside one day longer. My eyes need to feast on the high desert beauty, while feeding my hungry soul.

Every writer faces difficulties producing interesting material day after day. Imagination needs to be fed by new experiences. When a piece is produced, there are hours of pre-write that provide the final piece. Experiences and excursions provide food for the most interesting blogs. So, without divulging everything, know that I have been working on the pre-write stage since last Friday morning at 3 AM.

A few weeks ago, I started thinking about Katmandu. First of all, as a writer, the name is fun to write and more fun to say. It conjurs up images of exotic mayhem and energy, with sights and smells that would punch a person right in the face. A lack of presence and focus in Katmandu could cost you your life. Katmandu would be a moment in time never forgotten. A vivid immersion into life. Not a place to visit without a serious forward observer pointing out bad guys doing bad things.

For months, my soul has pined for one little adventure out of my house. This longing has fallen on too many deaf ears to count. Watching the mustangs, my mind has reflected on freedoms that have all fallen away to leave me boxed in a desperate state. Turning 65 left me to reflect on very real reasons I cannot just jump into my little white Barbie Jeep and rush into the tomorrow of the high dessert. Tethered to my house and sterile environment, I have searched high and low for a friend that longed to cut the cord and go on an adventure, even if it was off a BLM road just a few miles from my house. I needed to be away, for an hour or two to roll around with the tumbleweeds next to heaven under an angry cloud streaked sky.

My Jeep is not an average geriatric ride. A 2019 Wrangler, she is trail rated. She has been wanting to be tested in a way that included more than going to Walmart for a dozen eggs. And so, with the stars aligned in an extremely odd way, I found myself on the top of a mountain, in the highest of deserts, on the windiest of days, overlooking the world. The path to get there took a driver more skilled than me. At some points, being at a 17 degree incline, my heart pounded as my pulse quickened. But, in the end, there I was, feeling like I was dreaming. In 360 degree panorama, a desert landscape soothed my heart. Thirty to forty mile an hour winds ruffled my hair and chilled my bones. I found my Katmandu.

The exotic thrill of being on a high mountaintop with no sign of other humans can’t be explained. This isn’t a place I could ever drive myself, and isn’t a place I knew existed until a few days ago. One slip of a wheel would have sent my trail rated jeep down a 500 foot adventure of a different kind. I want to believe the effort it took to go to this place would be beyond most people with bad intent. This was a place where my heart was next to heaven in a way it needed to be for the shortest of times. I didn’t need to put on an oxygen mask, or carry high mountain equipment, because this place already existed in my normal world. Someone just listened, while kindly offering to be my sherpa for the day.

Dear readers, I know my limitations and would never attempt to return to Katmandu alone. A very steep climb to a small perch on top of the world will remain a place only the most experienced guides could handle. A place that I have know seen, which I can return to in dreams. My Jeep will need to realize her driver is one that put a sunflower tire cover on the spare tire. That speaks volumes about my ability to visit Katmandu on a whim.

I plan to construct a very tiny sign and return there one day soon. I will plant my sign as proof that I traveled there on a very windy and rainy February day. As for the sherpa, with all my heart, I thank you for seeing a weary soul and realizing that wild things can’t be tethered to four walls and survive. Wild things need to breathe fresh air and experience life. All great sherpas know this.

The high desert nourishes my soul. I can’t think of anywhere VST could have helped me plant roots that would fit me more. I’m not a fragile girly girl waiting for my next shopping trip. Anyone who knows the hoodied-me already knows with car keys hand I have a crazy adventure brewing in my head. Stay tuned. I can’t wait to share them with you

Through my journey so far, I have been blessed with the BEST FRIENDS anyone could have every asked for. While my heart has been shattered in unimaginable ways, an army of the best people on earth have been there to check in, listen, make me laugh, and cry with me.

My very oldest friend is really more like a sister. We met when we were just toddlers. I have a vivid memory of our mothers, young women each with many children standing in the driveway. Songbird had flaxen hair, worn in curly pony tails on that day. She hid behind her mom’s leg as they talked. I don’t remember what I was doing, except thinking this girl was so cool.

Through the years, we shared bike rides, school, secrets, and talents. She was a musician from the day she was born. She taught herself to play the piano and guitar, never learning to read music. We wrote songs together, me helping with the lyrics, and her providing just the right tunes. Her house was the fun one to hang out in, and that we did. She was the only daughter, of which I was envious, being from a family of five girls. Her private bedroom was her sanctuary, something I could only dream of having. Private space.

She was gregarious, always making friends. She made the cheer squad. She even kissed VST after he made an amazing play in football. She married at 18, and went away to see the country packing her guitar, all of which I found fascinating as I trudged off to college. She divorced and I married. She married again, and the cycle of who was pregnant and which new baby was coming began. 34 years ago, I was present for the birth of her daughter, coaching her as she brought this miracle into the world.

She remains one of the most beautiful women I know as the years have rolled on. Funny, insightful, and vibrant. Heartbroken at the news of VST’s passing, she shared her sorrow with me. For, it was she that had insisted I went to the high school reunion in 1987, where VST and I met. Although we live in different states, she remains an anchor in my life that I am so lucky to have her.

Journeying through widowhood, one of the things I miss the most are the familiar routines and predictability that VST and I shared throughout the years. Even though we enjoyed spontaneous travel, our basic routines were set. Coffee, followed by breakfast, followed by his walk and my chores. Everything had a time and place. When he died, my world was left in an upside down heap, waiting for me to sort things out and a begin again.

Through many months as a new widow, I’ve found that some routines remain the same. Coffee still comes first, followed by blogging. Early morning writing is the most rewarding part of my day. A time to sort through my thoughts, sharing those that have been the most helpful on my journey helps me heal. Writing gives me time and space to share precious memories of VST and me. My early morning voice shares grief while I mourn to the setting moon, as the new day begins. Purging a new day’s sadness before daylight helps me to reach for the happiness I choose.

Perhaps Covid has robbed you of your routines. Simply enjoying a day of shopping might be disrupted by new store hours. In my state, eating at a restaurant is limited to parties of four. Weddings lists have been trimmed. Funerals occur on Zoom. We are left longing for hugs from those we love most. The predictable laughter at family gatherings has been silenced, as we wait for a declaration that the pandemic is over.

Death certainly has robbed me of the predictability I came to expect from VST throughout our marriage. VST loved his schedules and kept to them. It was a comfort to do the same things at the same time during the day. Schedules helped us use our day in the most effective way, not wasting precious time. In the end, it mattered not, because VST’s forever stopped with the beat of his heart. The loneliness of my forever is a glaring reminder that familiar routines of the past are gone for good.

Living alone, many routines can become flexible. Lunch no longer occurs at a set time, but rather when I get hungry. Could be at 10 AM or 1 PM. I remember VST would look for lunch like clockwork at 11:30 AM, often wandering to the kitchen asking me if we were on our own for the meal. Dinner is predictably lonely and quiet. The drone of the television can’t erase the fact that I miss my meal-mate.

Rebuilding my life in small steps, scheduling my more difficult days has been an answer. Using my daily planner, each day, I think of three small tasks that need to be accomplished. These are jotted down and crossed off when accomplished. For weeks, I may not need the scaffolding of a written routine to get through the day. Then, grief has other plans.

As the days go by, remember there is a comfort to routines, even if they are new and it takes awhile to establish them. New routines bring a different look to our days. The predictability of spring’s warmth will keep me searching for new and valuable routines. Until then, predictably, I will do the very best I can to stay the course on this journey through widowhood.

Visiting Walmart earlier in the week, my heart filled with hope and happiness for in the aisles in all their glory, bulbs grace the shelves. Peonys. Dahlias. Daffodils. Starts for onions and potatoes. Asparagus. Bare root berries and roses. The hope that fills my heart when looking at my new tubers is reassuring and comforting. Dormant now, their beauty waiting for spring.

There is so much to be done in the garden while it sleeps. Tillage of my soil, depleted and hardened. Amendments like gypsum, compost, fertilizer, and ash will help to make a nutrient rich bed for plants. Rose bushes need to be neatly pruned. Irises need to be separated and spread around the yard. All while I do my best to shield Oliver’s observant little eyes and nose from new things to dig up.

Oliver has been spending more time outside, running and playing. During his times, he loves being a stealth terror. My solar lights are slowly disappearing, one by one, as he plucks them out of the ground to devour the plastic sticks. His little dirt covered nose betrayed his quest to uncover my sleeping peony. He searches for the last dried apple hidden in the bark, while barking at his friends across the fence. We are both looking forward to spring, tired of being hidden away in the house.

Days in the high desert are warming slowly. The sun’s radiance makes outdoor activities pleasant, but, a real gardener cannot get lured into the belief that spring is here. There are more days of winter to come. Storms that arise out of nowhere and bring back the intense cold and snow are coming. No, it isn’t over yet.

Ten months ago, WINTERPAST (Song of Solomon 2:10-14, the name of my home) didn’t hold my roots in her clutches. I didn’t know her nightly groans and creaks. I couldn’t have appreciated the respite she would provide from the heat of summer and the cold of winter. I didn’t know how she would buffer the howling winds of widowhood, wrapped around me like a comfy robe. She has done all that and more. It will be a pleasure to adorn her with the most beautiful flowers and plants. She looks her best when dressed in life.

Seeds of hope will be in the ground soon. I hope that the next two months are kind to Oliver and me. The last part of our first year journey through the wilderness of widowhood could be the toughest. Every day, I need to cling to faith and hope, while choosing happiness and laughter.

Emerson said,

“Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys

Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs:

Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet

Clear of the grave.”

A limited number of springs to dress Winterpast in her finest flowers have I, mine to tend and love for a little while. Although I grieve, I am a gardener first. It is the garden that will heal my soul and help me through the saddest of sads. With that said, I look forward to planting hope just outside my door.

Some days, we all just need to step back and breathe. Take stock in how lucky we are. Switch off the television and take stock in the beauty in our own lives. There is so much interference as we go about our days. Buy this. Think that. Hate this. Love that. This is accepted. This is canceled. It’s easy to get swept away in fear and anxiety, while simply losing our inner compass.

Easy for me to say, while I have been bubbling away in my brand new, squeaky clean and sparkling hot tub with 47,000 jets of varying sizes turning me into melting butter. One large cube of happiness. Okay, 47,000 is an exaggeration. A goodly number of jets. Even shoulder jets that face downward completely relaxing the shoulders.

Sunday was delivery day. T masterfully wired the new 220 circuit. After he sat for hours on cold concrete, the wiring is perfection in grey. Better than VST would have done. The proper breaker box is installed for any malfunction, none of which I foresee. Sunday night at 7 pm, with water to the fill line, the tub began heating, and was at 104 delightful degrees by morning.

One small problem occurred. When the tub arrived, delivery was swift. The two men were professional, unwrapping the spa in record time and putting it in place. All 850 lbs. of empty spa. Without a cover. Which was included in the price. Winter temps here have been below freezing, but the spa runs continuously. The cover company didn’t deliver the shipment, so there was no cover to bring.

This could’ve been a hair-on-fire moment. I could have had a Widow-Nuts moment. 0-60 kind of madness. The happiness of having my hot tub in pace and running really negated any of those reactions. In this COVID-Crazed society, there are all kinds of shortages far more serious than the lack of my cover. Besides, I can jump in and out more easily for the moment, which I have been doing throughout the day. So, while one person was raging on about the situation, I became more relaxed. There are some things that are worth hysteria. I went through one such situation on April 8th, 2020. After that, a missing spa cover is so far down the list of things fixate-able, it’s not worth it.

After T, K, and I released 10 beautiful balloons on Monday, they were on their way back home. Before they were 10 miles down the road, I was in the spa floating about. I soaked so much on Monday that my brain became soggy. I forgot that I had a 6 PM Board of Directors Meeting for the service group of which I am a member. Even worse, my sweet neighbor was driving me. She came to the door. Knocking and Knocking. Thinking the worst had happened. Where was I???? Bobbing about like a bathtub ducky in the spa. Oy Vey. Worse, I went to sleep without checking my phone. She was relieved the next morning to find out that I passed away. One of these days, the firemen are going to arrive to find out if the widow-woman has died. Hope they check the back yard. Yikes. Better keep my towel handy.

Centering oneself in the moment is the best medicine. Better than anything a doctor can prescribe. In each moment, you can only change or control what you can. Anything else just is or needs to be the way it is.

My plan for today is this. Plenty of music playing throughout the day. Turbo-Tax 2020 on hold until Friday. Keto dieting begins this morning. Chick Flick movies throughout the day, with a periodic musical included now and then. Quiet time in the spa to decide what adventures my springtime will include. And soaking. Lots of soaking. Have a wonderful day. Come back tomorrow, when, after sufficient pruning, I will return.

Optimism is something VST and I internalized as we navigated through the maze that was our life. Focusing on the good, we held on when startled by the flash-floods of life. VST and I looked for life’s lessons every time our normal was turned upside down. Invariably, we could find positives in every situation. Even the worst. In that way, we were perfectly matched.

VST’s parents were two of the most optimistic people I ever met. Moving to California during the dust bowl, they found jobs harvesting fruit while living in labor camps. From Oklahoma and Missouri, they found their riches in family they kept close. Descending from wealthy English families that received land grants from the king before the USA was a country, they could have become bitter at the twists and turns of poverty and discrimination. And, yes, they faced class discrimination as Okies, which is a derogatory term. They didn’t become pessimistic. They focused on optimism and God, making a wonderful life for themselves. The poverty of their youth made them strive for the riches of their elder years.

Farming was a fertile place for us to choose optimism. The vineyard taught us humility. It reinforced time management. It kicked us in the butt until we almost didn’t have one left to share between the two of us. Droughts, disease, and the tiny villainous mite, brought us too our knees. Our faith calmed us, promising next year would always be better. We learned to dance in the rain, while drying raisins lay drenched and rotting in it. We learned what we could control and what we couldn’t through farming while maintaining our optimism.

By 2014, optimism while living in California wasn’t possible for VST and I, so we packed up and moved to Virginia City, Nevada (VC). It was easy maintain a positive attitude there, because we were retired with Time, Money, and Health on our side. For six years, we enjoyed a wonderful life. I’d maintain optimism that the snow wouldn’t really be that bad. VST maintained optimism that we would be lounging in Laughlin, Nevada rig-side when the storms hit. The bottom line was that we chose to focus on the bright side of life.

During VST’s illness and his final days, I never saw his faith waiver. He maintained his path until the end, making his wishes known to us all. His faith in God helped him steer his course to the end. His total trust in the Lord was awe-inspiring. I never witnessed him asking “Why me?”. He rowed with the current instead of against, making a peaceful exit with one last sigh.

This month, I need to work on maintaining an optimistic attitude. It’s Month 11 now. I think about the days and how they’ve flown. The one year anniversary of his death is close. Winter plods on, with more storms promised later in the week. With optimism, I’m working on yard designs, and plans for road trips. Life is such a beautiful experience. Even at the worst moments, there is collateral beauty to be found and cherished. Optimism. Month 11. That’s the word.

Just looking at the number is chilling. In two months, I will be at our little RV park in Cayucos, California to celebrate his First Heavenersary. Our favorite place to visit, VST called it our Hawaii. We’d laugh at all the flight hours we were saving by staying on the mainland. Cayucos was indeed our Hawaii in the twilight of VST’s forever. On one of the last days that he shared his thoughts with me, he told me he wanted to go to the coast again. I know, VST. Me, too.

Ten months is almost one year of seasons. In the midst of winter, I realize I have been through the end of spring, a summer, and autumn without my best friend. VST made everything an adventure or building project. Either way, we enjoyed each other so much.

In 2007, both our jobs were taking a toll on us. I was a teacher for severely ill kids in the Children’s Hospital in our area. He was in charge of Child Protective Services for our county. He also helped abused elders and women. VST was one of the most popular managers in the place. If his employees needed help, he was at the ready. During fires, he was the first to call in and find out what he could do to help. Part of his duties involved making sure Foster kids were safely out of harms way during disasters. We were both stressed to the max, to put it mildly.

For a long time, in my dreams, I envisioned our cabin. I couldn’t tell where it would be, or how big, but, I knew we’d own one during our marriage. In the winter of 2013, I finally mentioned this and the hunt was on. Almost without looking, we found the most adorable little cabin, less than 900 square feet of abused space. Every inch was in need of renovation. Because of that, it was priced at a steal just for us. We took possession the night of our 25th anniversary in 2013. There was no hot as the pipes had frozen. The hot water heater had missing parts. There was no toilet. We didn’t need a frig. There was no heat, except for a wood burning fireplace.

On that first night, wondering what we had bought, we were just happy to be there together. We couldn’t sleep there that night because of the above mentioned problems, but, after the first week, all those things were fixed, and weekends would find us knee deep in pine needles and sawdust. It took us five years to finish the last project before we sold it. In those five years, we had more fun than a couple should be allowed. VST found a video on You Tube called, The Cabin. So hilarious, we would sing it on Friday nights on our way there. It was our little home 25 miles from home.

In the last 306 days, I miss so many things. Good Morning’s. Virginia City sunrises off the deck. Hot coffee. Channel 2 news. Our video game time. His walks while I made the bed. Projects. Lunch out after getting supplies. Holding hands. Arguing and seeing who could win. Making up. Talking to the kids when they called. Vacationing in the RV. A million little things. The sound of water running while he brushed his teeth. Early morning departures to places unknown. Running from storms to warm places. Yes. A million little things.

What has surprised me is that I have found many things in which to find comfort over the past months. Some routines have continued. I talk to VST a lot. I am learning to listen for signs and answers. He taught me so much about life while we shared it together. We promised to be together forever. We were. It was just that it ended up being his forever, not mine.

I heard something the other day that made sense. If a day in heaven passes in the blink of an eye, then VST will turn around and I’ll be there. It will seem like no time at all for him. For me, it seems like 306 days, plus a lifetime.

Ten balloons will grace the high desert sky today. T and K will be with me as we watch them soar. I know VST is up there watching. I know he wishes he was still here with us. Relax and enjoy heaven, VST. We will all be together again soon enough. For now, please watch over us. Send us a sign once in awhile. Give us something to laugh about. I love you so much, and miss you with all my heart. Your Darlin’, Joy

There is life after dark! I don’t often see it, as I seldom go out at night. This started years ago for VST and me. Dark brings out all kinds of things in the high desert. Wild mustangs standing in the road, licking the salt like statues. Deadly ice waiting to spin a speeding car right out of control. Drunken revelers celebrating life’s milestones or nothing at all. The blackest of black covering everything, and making it difficult for those with poor night vision. VST and I liked to tuck in with our nightly routines as the sun slipped behind Mount Davidson, putting a bow on one nice day after another.

Now, night surrounds me with all the same things in my new town. A far off pack of coyotes sing their love songs to each other across the canyon. Wild mustangs visit our neighborhood like shadowy ghosts in search of food. The silence of the desert is so intense, the wind’s approach can be heard like a farway train, coming closer and closer, until it attempts to enter the house through my chimney, rattling my Russian Olive tree, as she sleeps in her dormancy. The train runs through town on schedule, roaring down the tracks running easttowesttoeasttowest.

Last night was different. With T and K here to liven things up, we ventured into the nightlife of my little town at 6:15 PM. Main street was bustling with commuters racing in both directions. The Won Ton had patrons waiting outside, offering the best Chinese fare in the area. We drove by while on our mission, headed for our hardware store.

Not having been there for months, my senses were assaulted from every direction. Paint, lubricants, pipes, fittings, tools, gadgets, the classic blue and white colors of the store. Faintly, the smells of fresh cut lumber, the favorite scent that bathed VST as he created beauty with a hammer and nails. I can’t walk to that end of the store just yet. For every project, VST and I would choose the lumber together. Every board. Those days included early mornings, Donuts-To-Go, orange tie downs, and red warning flags on the ends of the longest boards. Always, the unwanted patches of pitch on our jeans. They included VST refusing to ask for help to load lumber, because, he could do it just fine. Even when his body reminded him it wasn’t just fine.

Last night, our focus was on wiring for the new spa, which will be delivered today between 2PM and 4PM. As VST’s son, T knew exactly the configuration needed to bring bubbling jets to life. 40 feet of this, 10 feet of that, a box, some fittings, and we were good to go.

While dining at The Red Barn, we ran into Ninja Neighbor. Banter with a feisty waitress made dinner more fun with attitude and sass. At a time when I would normally be deep into my nightly movie, we shared laughter and good conversation. Being out in life was much more fun.

As I write, T and K are up and ready for the morning. Oliver hears them and is pleading to go see his favorite people. They are off to McDonald’s for early morning breakfast, as another day begins. I better be ready. Stay tuned.

Movies in the evening help me to wind down and fall to sleep. DVD’s do come loaded with insufferable previews, one after the other. A few weeks ago, one such preview caught my attention, and I decided order the DVD. The name of the movie is Collateral Beauty staring Will Smith, Kate Winslet, and Helen Mirren, just to name a few of the stars.

Expanding my DVD collection, I now have quite a few classics. With things changing so quickly in our society, you never know when old movies will be permanently canceled. In that frame of mind, I order 3-4 movies a week, and this week, COLLATERAL BEAUTY arrived.

I wasn’t sure if it would hold my attention or even be worth my time. After watching it, there was so much to think about, those thoughts spilled over into my dreams. Without giving away the plot, professional executive Will Smith suffers a loss he can’t deal with. His friends, being worried, devise a plan to help him. The movie’s message is that beauty surrounds even the most profound losses. In life, Love, Time, and Death are interdependent.

I forgot how much I’ve always liked the three main actors and their work. In no time at all, I was engrossed by the storyline , and watched until the last credit stopped rolling. The ending was a total surprise to me.

Time, Love, and Death were humanized, each one controlling different parts of our lives. Death gives Time and Love importance. “Love is the ONLY why,” was a special line from the movie. Time needs to be recognized and respected while being mindful of Love and Death. All three are deeply intertwined and woven through the movie in which the story was beautifully told.

When I think back to the three words as they relate to VST’s battle with cancer, we weren’t given much time to grasp what was happening to us. Nine weeks not much longer than a sudden death from a car crash, taking VST away before any of us could realize he was dying. Time was marked in days. 63 days of illness. 7 days of hospice care. 2 days of a coma. Eternity without VST every again. It seemed after he was gone, there were days that would crawl like the coldest molasses, and other days that were gone in the blink of an eye. The past ten months seem like it has taken years to complete. In other ways, I can close my eyes and be back in VC, watching the sunrise with my healthy husband.

There wasn’t enough time to finish our love story properly. We had to end it where we did. Love was never lacking between the two of us, but it was defined by time and death. Before-death and after-death love affairs are different. Our “Before”was what everyone longs for. Our “After” looks a lot like my grief. Without time, love could have never grown and bloomed. Without death, the scope of the beauty of our love wouldn’t have created my exquisite memorial mental tapestry.

Although Time, Love, and Death all deserve proper respect and attention, Collateral Beauty appears when you lose someone in your life. Collateral Beauty found in the love every hospice professional showed me as they gently cared for VST. In every sympathy card from friends and family. In the voices of strangers I needed to talk to when changing our financials. In the faces of our friends and family at his memorial. In total strangers that learn about his passing. In the past ten months, the Collateral Beauty in my life has exploded, leaving me in awe of it’s brilliance.

Take time to look for the Collateral Beauty in your life. The more you look, the more you see. The more you see, the more gratefulness will spill out of your heart. I hope you see the movie sometime. Just beware. The ending may touch you in a very special way.

A most unusual event I need to share. Yesterday, in the quiet of the morning, at the time just between dark and light, an radiant event transpired in my back yard. I’ll tell you about it now.

For the last few days, I’ve been a little under the weather wishing things could’ve turned out differently. As a widow, we all have those days in which we aren’t 100%. I’m no different. I’d watched a Netflix Show called Surviving Death, about signs that our loved-ones are near. I didn’t start with Episode 1, as I normally would’ve, but decided Episode 4 might be interesting. With no for reason for choosing that episode, I started watching.

My attention was immediately captured as the first story shared was about butterflies and the importance they had in one person’s grieving experience. I had a very similar experience with butterflies when VST’s mom passed away. While caring for her in her final days, I’d asked her how I’d know if she was near. Responding immediately, she whispered, “Butterflies”. That was her answer. Just “Butterflies”. After she died, every day, for almost two years, butterflies flew in and out of my life. In many forms. In many ways. From Monarch butterflies flying mid day at a busy intersection in the 113 degree heat of the Central Valley, to a story on the radio about a butterfly smuggling ring in Russia. Every day, there was a unique way in which butterflies were interjected into my life. I came to accept and love the signs that she was watching over me as I healed through my grief.

With VST, there’ve been no butterflies fluttering by. No strange cloud formations. No dreams or messages. Nothing. Just nothing. While watching the show I wished that, just once, I’d experience a sign that he was happy and at peace. But nothing came.

Blogging, I prefer to sit in my studio at my desktop computer. I have a nice office chair that supports my back. Oliver has his bed right near my feet. Comfy and cozy, I’m surrounded by things reflecting my life. It is unusual for me to blog in the living room, as I find too many distractions.

But on this day, I sat quietly on the couch blogging on my iPad. Usually the curtains would be closed because it’s dark when I blog. On this day, I’d opened them when I got up. Through the sliding glass door, I view the back yard. As I was blogging, something outside caught my attention, and looking up, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

In the back yard of Winterpast (the name for my home), there stands a Russian Olive Tree. In the high desert where I live, this is considered by some to be a junk tree. My magnificent tree grew up from a volunteer, majestic and beautiful. The back fence neighbor hates the tree and wants me to cut it down. Not going to happen. I love my junk tree and have since the day I met her. She’s a windblown transplant like me, thriving in the desert.

Yesterday, in that time of morning between dark and light, this dormant, leaf-less tree glowed. The darkened winter sky set a beautiful backdrop for the tree, which gleamed in splendor for a good ten minutes. I quickly got my phone and took pictures. It was a burning bush moment that I was lucky enough to witness and photograph.

In that moment in time, with Winterpast’s tree ablaze in light, I knew in my heart, VST was speaking to me, loud and clear. Heaven is a beautiful place. He is surrounded by all our loved ones while waiting for me. The peace and beauty surrounding the moment of splendor filled my heart with so many emotions. It was an awe-inspiring message that some would explain away by the angle of the winter sun. That’s a fine explanation, unless you feel differently, as I do from this experience.

Something made me change my blogging location, while typing on my ipad instead of my desktop. Something changed my routine to open the curtain while darkness eliminated any view. Something got my attention while I was intently focused on my writing. Something made my heart skip a beat and insist on pictures. Something different and wonderful.

As the tree glowed, the air around it seemed to glow as well. Golden-yellow-shimmery-iridescent magnificence right out my back window. The other trees were not glowing. Just my beautiful Russian Olive. I smiled. VST picked the right way to let me know things are brilliant in his world. My heart felt his happiness for my happiness. A sign I won’t soon forget, that came on a average morning, on an average day, while I sat blogging in that time of day between dark and light in the high desert.