Adjusting


It’s incredibly hard, incredibly slow...did I say incredibly hard?

I imagine it’s hard for everyone like this. I envy the people I see that seem to handle everything so well. Not me, I haven’t handled any of it well. I try, I feel like I’m doing okay, and then - out of nowhere, it’s all back. Instantly.


Over and Over. Nonstop.


Is it bad? Not at all. Just remembering the way things were, how much things have changed, and how bad they’re missed.


It’s the little things that are the hardest. The weathers changing now, a d the daffodils are bursting...whichever morning they opened the entire world knew the daffodils were opening. I was never much of a morning person, and Trey loved nothing more than scaring me awake. Screaming the daffodils/ camellias/ dogwoods/ azaleas were blooming. At the top of his lungs...while making up a little song. This year there was no notice given.

Walking around the yard I see the green coming in on the crepe myrtles, hydrangeas...the tea olives are budding.

Spring is starting - without Trey.


The azaleas aren’t cut the way Trey likes them. I’m afraid all the buds were trimmed off-so now I’m worried they aren’t going to bloom like they should. Treys bird is back...every spring - this thing shrieks like a banshee, and Treys not here chase the thing off and cuss and complain, but then worry every year when he moves on.


Treys not here to adjust all of the steering schedules, and make sure the lawn gets enough water(he had it down to a science). He’s not here to walk the dogs every morning, and yell at the paper lady to slow down-or to post about her on Facebook.


He’s not here to help with dinner. We used to make crazy good food. All the time. Now I’m lucky to heat anything up.


The house is so quiet now. I’ve been staying at home at night alone, sometimes we sit on the front steps listening to the water fountain...just because the house is so quiet.


Every thought I have about the house has Trey in it. I’ve tried to put things like his jacket, wallet, keys out. Just to make it seem like it always did. Now they bring me comfort, and sometimes they catch me just right, and there I am again in tears.


Everything is an adjustment


Going to the abbey has been something very different for me. Comforting, but different. I’ve never understood people

That go to the cemetery on a regular basis. Their loved ones not really there. Why go all the time? Boy oh boy has my mind changed on that.


Mepkin really is not a ‘cemetery’ or even a ‘columbarium’. Mepkin Abbey is a community of Roman Catholic monks established in 1949 on the site of the historic Mepkin Plantation located on the Cooper River, north of Charleston, South Carolina. Founded by the monks of Gethsemani in Kentucky, the brothers of Mepkin belong to the worldwide Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance popularly known as Trappist. Following The Rule of St. Benedict, the monks at Mepkin Abbey devote their lives to prayer, spiritual study, work and hospitality. Living by the work of their hands, the monks provide a livelihood for themselves and the poor.


It is some of the most beautiful land in the Lowcountry, massive oaks, magnolias, azaleas, everything southern. When the weather permits Benton and I park at the Visitors Center, and walk to the columbiums. I know Trey is not there...but, I know it’s a place we always loved. We have been out there many many times, at all times of the year...Spring, Summer, Fall, Christmas for the Nativities. It’s just somewhere we have said for at least the past 15 years we have talked about being placed. Reality still makes that a weird thought.

But, out there I totally understand those that go to a certain place to ‘visit’. I don’t know why, but out there I can talk to Trey. I talk to him all the time...but out there’s something different. I fill him in on every drs appointment, everything I’ve been doing. I talk to him about the process of closing down the business, dealing with the house...basically everything that we would talk about if he were here. Trey is the one person I could talk to about anything. The one person I would run to with every problem I encountered. Trey still is that person. It’s amazing that I can be stressed out to the max - go and talk to Trey, and I feel better...Like always. I fill him in on everything, Missy-the girls, his parents - my sister and mother...and their shenanigans. We usually spend awhile there, last week we spent hours. And usually when we leave I tell him we are headed to see his parents...because if their home I usually want to stop by Boca Vista phase III.

Tommy and Brenda have been...I don’t know...everything this past year. It’s been a terrible awful year. For everybody. Terrible awful.

Going over to see the Strocks has become this oddly comforting thing. I have gotten better about my emotions...but now and again T or B will do or say something, and trigger everything. But, it’s really nice to talk about, remember,and laugh about Trey. It’s weird. I have this need to talk about him. I think people are scared to mention anything at all. Yeah, I may get a but emotional but after all that it’s really good to talk about.

The hardest adjustment...a quiet house, and not being needed.


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