There was this one time this summer when I actually made something. Most of the rest of the summer was composed of hot dogs, take out, pizza, and the occasional meal brought over by my mother. Yup…pretty glamorous. But then I made this cherry clafoutis and I felt a little ray of familiarity, a sense of being myself again. I have to admit that I enjoyed the moment of recognition more than I enjoyed the clafoutis. And please don't ask me to pronounce that word because French pronunciation is my nemesis. So here's a video for you:
Here is the recipe for the cherry clafoutis that I used. It was not complicated in the least; it only took me extra time to grind rice into rice flour and to blend almonds with cornstarch to make almond flour. (Seriously, almonds with a teaspoon of cornstarch in a blender for 8 seconds…just don't over blend or you'll make almond butter.) Predictably, it is a rustically simple dessert with a classic French flavor. While the texture or taste won't knock your socks off, it's satisfying and rich.
It's amazing how 8 months after moving into this new home, (this new farm?) I'm only beginning to feel like I'm finding my feet. Mind you, I didn't say I'd found them, but that I'm beginning to find them, more like just realizing that they were there all along to find.
My story of this summer isn't unique; in fact, many of you will relate. Shortly after we moved in this last summer, I found out that the baby, my baby, I had been carrying, suffered "fetal demise" at 11 weeks. I had waited 17 months to get pregnant and it was over before I knew it. The visions I'd had of my happy baby standing in his crib in the corner of the guest room of our new house became ghostly; they haunted me. As I waited two weeks for either a spontaneous abortion to happen or to have a DNC done, I developed a compulsion imagining my baby's cadaver encapsulated within me, a sickness spreading throughout.
Even after they removed it, I felt as if the shadow of death that passed through my body took a part of me with it, that while my living children and husband laughed, I straddled a line between present and absent. For quite a few days, breathing, walking, loving became a burden. Every beautiful morning became painfully perfect, poignant reminders that my loss was equally profound and intangible.
I found distractions for my grief in caring for my children, the farm and especially my four month old puppy who became ill. But within two weeks, I carried my brave puppy, Thea, into the vet's office and said goodbye unknowingly for the last time. The grief that came afterwards was for both Thea and the baby.
I struggled with feeling bereft of my Heavenly Father's love until I realized that my losses, though valid to me, were tiny losses amongst the thousands of millions others. I realized that loss and pain is one of the human experiences that we all share, that bind us together. Just as I had seen my friends pick themselves up and start afresh with hope, I knew that somehow I would be able to as well. That courage, faith, and hope are also experiences we have in common. I also realized that while we may not be able to keep the things we love close to us in this world, although I know we are promised many of them in the next life, we can most definitely keep the gratitude, joy and memories of those things and people. Knowing that we can choose strength and joy testifies to me that we have a divine Redeemer, someone who lifts us from whatever dark place we've fallen and helps us pick up the pieces.
I have seen friends pass through immense trials, of all different types, these past few years. None of us can can escape our unique grief, pain, sorrow or loss in this life. Our Heavenly Father, though, gave us the ability to possess joy and happiness despite our struggles and that is how I know He loves each of us, even me.
And here we are. I've skipped over the stages of the grieving process but please know I'm not disregarding it or anyone else's journey of grief. If anyone needs it, I am able to talk about it finally. It took me a while though.
Gratefully, I am also making my way back to myself. After all this upheaval and new adventures, the pieces are beginning to fall where they belong and I 'm remembering things like how much I like to cook and how bad I am at French words. I'm remembering how much I like taking photos and writing about them. I'm even remembering how my chickens like to write me letters and form coop associations. So much about life is good.
