In the Weeds

I’ve never given much thought to weeds. My late husband and I had an agreement when we got married. He handled everything outside and I handled everything inside. Of course, that all changed when he died.

I’ve been battling weeds in my flower beds for a couple of weeks now. I’ve tried everything. Pulling them out by hand, pesticides, covering them with cardboard. They just keep coming back. Today I came home from work and thought more about weeds than I ever have before.

You see, my yard needs to be mowed. I’ve got a guy. But we’ve had a lot of rain too. They have been backed up and unable to get to my house for three weeks. When I got home today and the yard still hadn’t been cut, I sat on the back deck and cried my eyes out. It’s stupid, I know. It’s grass. Well honestly, it’s mostly weeds. I can’t explain my reaction. And I’m sure my yard guy will get to me eventually. 

Grief is a lot like a weed. An unwanted growth deep inside of you that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t get rid of it. You would think 2 1/2 years in that I wouldn’t be sideswiped by grief anymore. Unfortunately, that is not the case. The more time goes on, the harder I find it is to spend any time outside. Outside, in the place he was responsible for. Outside in the place he built just for us.

Maybe if the backyard was just a field of wildflowers, I’d want to spend more time there. I like to imagine that’s where my Joe is now. In a beautiful field of wildflowers, with bright blue skies and butterflies.

Meanwhile, I’m left here with the crabgrass and the sadness. And just like a weed, it keeps coming back.