Rose was a powerful symbol of Bedlam Farm. Simon is another, and it is definitely time for me and others to hear his bray, what I call his “Call To Life.” What does this mean? Simon has returned from the edge of life and his bray reminds us that life is precious, and to value our time. Maria’s love, and the animals love for her is a powerful affirmation of life.
I am blessed, many times over. I also put up a short clip from Rose’s last visit to the Pole Barn. I am embracing Simon’s spirit as well as Rose’s memory. I want to write more about grieving for animals, about the other dog’s response to Rose’s death and to continue to put up some photos. But the blog is not just about any one thing, and it is not only about grieving. So I’m going to start answering the call and moving ahead. I much appreciate the thousands of messages that continue to pour in. Thank you, thank you. Touched my heart.
I am listening to Simon. Hope you do too. Come and see.
I see that Rose is still working. I called Battenkill Books today and they said orders were coming in all day for books purchased for Christmas and in honor of Rose. I went in and signed some. I had not really thought of that, but it was yet another reminder of the place she had in a lot of hearts. I’ll stop in the store Wednesday for a video of Connie and Marilyn, tired, happy and busy. I will, of course, sign books in honor of Rose – that would be an honor for me as well. Orders taken through Friday will definitely make it for Christmas, and people are also buying “Going Home,” my other books for themselves, family members, vets, shelters and rescue groups. Now, to commemorate Rose as well.
Nobody need feel any pressure to buy anything, but it has been wonderful to see Connie and Marilyn and this great bookstore come alive this Christmas season, a very different feeling from last year. Connie is not lonely this year. She is also selling a lot of books besides mine (including the readable and powerful Jenna Woginrich book “Barnheart” chronicling one young woman’s determination to have her own farm.)
You can call Connie or Marilyn at 518 677-2515. They are delightful to talk to, living testaments to the value of human bookstores. Or you can e-mail them at wwww.battenkillbooks.com. They now have Paypal. Do not feel any pressure to buy any books for Rose or any other reason, but I do love the fact that it might be Rose who pushes us to the 1,000 book mark. She was always more focused than me. For those of you who have bought books or can, thanks.
Chickens are simple, elemental creatures. They live only for good and will peck one another’s eyes out at the first sign of illness or death. Yet sometimes, if you use your imagination, they appear regal and sentient, witnesses to the life around them. This is, I am sure, a total projection but one of the wonderful things about animals is that they are blank canvasses and they allow us to project anything we want onto them, as they cannot tell us otherwise. So today, Meg is the Queen of Bedlam Farm.
I’ve gotten several thousand messages since announcing Rose’s death, and I will take time to go over them. Two stood out yesterday. One was from my friend Paula Josa-Jones, the writer and equine choreographer. “Rose In A Storm” was the first book of yours that I read, Jon, and it was life changing,” she wrote. “You and Rose, it seems, share a devotion and steadiness of purpose that is a deep and beautiful inspiration to me.” There were so many other messages of sympathy and understanding. Thank you, thank you.
A second message also caught my eye, was from Margaret, in North Dakota. It said, “Jon, I am so sorry about the death of Rose. I know you will be grieving her loss for the rest of your life and will never fully get over it, and I feel so badly for you.”
Paula was correct, I think. This was our connection, Rose and me, although I never before thought of myself as being much like her. She was always a lot steadier than I was, and that was her service to me. But we did share devotion, and this week has reaffirmed my purpose.
Grieving is personal, individual and everyone has the right to experience it in their own way. Nobody grieves in my way, and I don’t grieve in the manner of anyone else. These two messages reminded me that there is a difference between sympathy and pity, between empathy and projection. Rose and I had very different purposes, but we converged over one of them: we both were steady in our determination to live our life in purpose and affirmation. I have no need of pity, or use for it, and I wanted to write Margaret, gently, and tell her that her message is not my story, or Rose’s. We ought take care not to mix our story in with the stories of other people. Stories are sacred to me, and we each own our own and get to tell it – the Creative Spark, a divine thing to me. I have lost other things, and other people, more precious than dear Rose. For me, grief is an episode, not a life.
So Margaret, thanks but I will not grieve for Rose for the rest of my life, or anything close to it, and while I hope I always remember Rose, I will consider it a profound failing in my life if I have not moved on to love other animals, other people, and to experience devotion and steadiness of purpose in many other and new ways.
Grief is not how my story goes or ends, and it is not the story of Rose, or of Rose and me. All around me I see life, love, beauty and purpose. There are people and animals and light and beauty waiting for my love and attention, my eye, heart and camera. They will get it. Paula has said it perhaps better than me, and well. Rose and I, we lived our lives every day, to the end, not in grief and remorse. Grief is, in its own way, the most powerful affirmation of love and life. May it be my epitaph as well.
