I don’t want anyone to think that I’m obsessed with the subject of grief. It’s an easy place to stay stuck, and that’s not healthy. While surviving grief is what I was originally asked to write about, and I indeed co-lead a grief support program in Winnemucca; the truth is that because I’ve found ways to positively process my grief, I can live a life filled with satisfying work, happiness and meaning. My sadness and loneliness never completely disappear, but I think those are the price we pay for having experienced a great and satisfying love in this life. For me, it’ll never be too high a price for having known and loved my dear husband, and my continued involvement in Griefshare is my way of giving back to a ministry that really saved me and put me on a positive path forward.
I encourage anyone who is suffering through the grief process to consider joining our local Griefshare community. You can attend in person or via Zoom. I heartily encourage in-person participation because I believe in-person fellowship is far more effective and healing. We are midway through our spring sessions and expect to begin a new program this fall, shortly after Labor Day.
Back to the subject of my column, “What Remains”. I wasn’t sure whether to end that with a period or question mark because honestly, “what remains” can and should evolve.
I can tell you that I still feel deep love, appreciation and respect for my late husband. I also miss his company. Having said that, much of my deepest pain left me when I realized that I didn’t need to grieve FOR HIM anymore because his suffering is over and he is now at perfect peace; with God, with so many that he loves, and that is his eternal home, he isn’t missing anything. He is where we all hope to be one day. I KNOW that we will be together again and when that day comes, we’ll never be separated again.
For me it was a game changer when I realized that the pain I still feel is my own pain and that which I see our daughter experience. I don’t have to carry a burden for Fred. We miss him terribly some days and like the backyard rake that we occasionally step on, only to have it whack us in the head; sometimes, the “whack” we feel is because we keenly remember our loved one when we visit a place, on birthdays and holidays, when we see a favorite movie or hear an old song. It can be anything, but in time, we learn to just let the memories roll over us along with the tears that still fall spontaneously. Hopefully in time, along with those pangs and tears, we smile, laugh, share and remember. Patrice and I often just exchange a look at each other when we are having one of those moments, or if we are close enough, we squeeze each other’s hand. It doesn’t have to be a big event and we don’t have to share our pain with anyone else, it’s enough that we know, and I believe he knows that he is in our hearts, minds and memories.
So what remains? Memories and obligation remain. In time and with work, we can experience those memories, good and bad, with smiles, laughter, reminiscing and bittersweet happiness that while our loved one has left this world, they are where they were meant to be, and that our separation is temporary. As for the obligation; for me, it’s an obligation to continue living a meaningful life, to continue parenting and guiding our daughter, and to keep our family ranch moving forward. Not everyone has a big ol ranch to watch over; but, I think that each of us has an obligation to God, and to our loved one’s memory to make the most of what we’ve been given. We cannot and should not stop living.
As for the ranch portion of my obligation; it is something I’ve had to think about a lot. It would certainly be an easier choice to sell this old place, put a check with plenty of 000s at the end into my bank account and start over somewhere with less work and fewer memories that the ones that still sometimes cover my face in tears. But who would that serve? It wouldn’t serve my young adult daughter who wants this ranching life but still has lots to learn, and it probably wouldn’t serve me. It might be easier, certainly more comfortable financially, but it would be a betrayal of the promise I made over 30 years ago. You see, I believe in what Ruth promised in the Bible. “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the LORD deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me."
Now I know Fred’s death technically let me off the hook, but I also know that he and his dad would be so very disappointed if I didn’t give this place my best even without them. This ranch was more than Fred’s life’s work, it was four generations and 150 years of blood, sweat and tears that made this place. If I change things up, the folks before me will understand and maybe even agree, and if I fail, I know they’d thank me for trying. But, if I quit without the effort, they’d simply be broken hearted, and so would I. I’ve known for a very long time that rather than owning a place like this, each of us is blessed to be a caretaker for a while, then pass it onto the next generation. At any point, perhaps smarter people would walk away with that big check, but I guess I’m just not that girl. I might have started out a city girl but today, I’m a rancher through and through, and as imperfect as I am at the job and life in general, I’m not planning on quitting anytime soon. I’m kinda keen on the old joke “if I won the lottery, I’d just keep ranchin till it was all gone”.
Kris Stewart is a rancher from Paradise Valley, Nevada.
